The House Guest
by annanovella
Summary: Betty Cooper just wants a quiet life, something she's fought very hard for. So when she's realized that she's chosen perhaps the most popular house on the block despite her best efforts, she's finding her life to be anything quiet. And a boy, whom she despises, is the very reason for the noise.
1. The House Guest

Betty Cooper scanned the well-lit room with her eyes, not really seeing the space – only its potential. The furniture was the type that belonged in an Ethan Allen catalogue, all light whites and blues like the house was centered on a beach in a Cape Cod on Martha's Vineyard. It was inviting, comfortable. New. She ran her hands over the light gray tufted couch, the fringed throw pillows with large buttons that illuminated the heaviness of their filling. She eyed white clapboard book shelves, empty, surrounding the television save for a few silver frames. She peered closer. They weren't filled, but held the faces of the generic families that were sold in them. A few seashells. Why did people collect seashells? Was this a California thing?

"Who owns this again, did you say?" Betty asked the realtor as she stepped onto the woven rug, a heavy Native American pattern of cornflower blue and white, zig zags that disappeared under two large arm chairs. No one had ever sat in those chairs, she could see. She highly doubted a person had ever stepped into this space before her today.

"I didn't. We don't really disclose the renter," her realtor smiled at her, falsely. Her lips were tight, unwilling to budge. Betty didn't care. She didn't really need to know who owned this cottage anyway. It didn't matter. Time was the only thing that mattered.

"And they aren't….here?" she asked again, for what felt like the third time. It must have felt like it to the realtor, too, who sighed with explanation.

"They aren't. They travel the majority of the year. They decided to lease the pool house last year when they finished the remodel. They do like to use the main house from time to time, but I haven't seen them in the actual home in over six months. So it is relatively secluded. Just a lovely drive up Mulholland…"

"That's fine. It's available immediately?" Betty cut her off. She didn't care about the drive. She didn't have a car. She approached the large bay window of the sitting area that peered out over the garden surrounding the in ground pool. The large Californian 'Country Estate' loomed in the distance across the expansive yard. Country Estate, that's how the ad had worded it. Betty smirked at the thought. Estate did not begin to cover what they called a house on these acres of land. It sat like a sleeping monster, all dark windows and grand arches, its gated entry trying to falsely convey its immense size. No one lived there either, from what she could tell. No one ever had, she assumed. The gravel driveway did not have a single tire track along it. The grass was dry, untouched by rain or weather in its perfectly green and sheared state. It was as if the house on the hill sat frozen in time, just waiting for her. Waiting for someone to hide in it.

"It is. We'll need first and last month's rent, and your references of course." Betty stopped. That would be a problem.

"I could provide six month's rent if we could forego the references," she smiled warmly. "Not a lot of friends where I'm from. Or renting history," she shrugged, as if she could not explain the phenomenon. The realtor eyed her, her face frozen as she considered.

"Yes, I suppose we could make that work."

"Fantastic," Betty answered quickly. She stepped forward and extended her hand, her fingers closing around the woman's with affirmation.

"Did you want to take a look at the rest of the space? The appliances are all brand new, and there's an allowance to use the pool during certain hours when the landscapers aren't around…" the realtor wandered off towards the kitchenette. Betty was barely listening as she allowed herself to sink down in the couch – the untouched, brand new couch. It cradled her and her exhaustion was finally bubbling towards the surface, creeping into her consciousness. She opened her purse and took out the money orders from the Walmart she had stopped at in Idaho. She thumbed out six of them, all made out to cash. She placed one cool palm over her eyes and pushed, hard, allowing the burn of fatigue to seep into her hands.

"I'm alright, thank you," she called out and stood, once more. The realtor, a Kay Williams according to her business card, stepped back into the living room, an inquisitive look on her face.

"I'll just run to the car, get the paperwork then," she smiled. Betty nodded. She smiled one more time, forcing herself to see this through to the end. As she heard the crunch of Kay's heels on the gravel outside, starting the long walk across the 2.7 acres to her awaiting Malibu in the circle drive, Betty felt her barriers fall. She knew she had maybe five minutes, five full minutes to _be_.

Her face crumbled and she breathed, hard, out into the space where finally, finally, no one could hear her. No one could see her. She pushed a fountain of tears off of her face, her mascara surely leaving a streak. She felt her heart burst, her arms and knees shake with each wracking sob she allowed to leave her chapped lips. She was hot. She was exhausted and tired. She had only a back pack and a rolling suitcase at her feet. She had no more pictures to put in these frames than the house they came in did. She was a ghost just like this home, just like the owner of this home, just like she had hoped.

Through splashing tears and streaked eyes she took a large breath in…and smiled.


	2. Alone

"Any weekend plans, Betty?" Lorna asked over the counter as she slid the last check off sheet in Betty's direction. Betty pulled a strand of blonde hair that had fallen from her pony tail back behind her ear, trying to help it find its home there. She pulled a pen from the front of her scrubs and initialed the last four boxes on the form, sliding it back to the registration nurse.

"Nothing," she provided. She didn't elaborate, didn't ask any details of Lorna's weekend. It was a game they played, from what Betty could see. Lorna, always asking, always pushing to find out even a smidgen of Betty's personal life. Betty, always polite, always complete in every aspect of her job, never budging an inch. Lorna sighed, heavily, but smiled in response anyway.

"I'm going to have my son and his new girlfriend over for lunch. It's about time I meet her," she continued, not relying on Betty to carry the conversation. That was fine with her. She liked to listen.

"That should be nice."

"Well, let's hope it's nicer than the last one. With all the tattoos and the hair shaved on one side. Now tell me, why would a young girl shave all the hair on one side of her head?" Lorna asked in disgust. Betty reached up to toy with the pony on the back of her own crown, deep in thought for a second before shaking her head. "I'm not sure. Maybe she's hot in this California heat?" Lorna scrunched up her nose.

"Maybe she's one of those punk rock kids. What do they call them?"

"…Punk rock kids…?" Betty supplied. She had no idea what Lorna was referring to. Lorna wasn't listening anymore anyway. She was standing, shuffling around the other side of the desk towards a patient whos gown was completely open, revealing his behind as he traipsed down the hallway toward the lounge.

"Lord alive, Mr. Jensen! Wait up, we got a full moon and the sun just came up!" she called as she ran after her patient, who did not appear to hear her in the slightest. Betty put her finger tips to her lips to stifle a laugh. It was not the most popular floor in the hospital that was for sure. Geriatric and Palliative care was essentially inpatient care for the elderly, located within the hospital. Some of it was short term while they overcame a bought of pneumonia. Some of it was long term as they looked for nursing home placement. Some had been here for three years needing daily care for their assortment of ailments. A midnight nursing shift on such a floor of Cedar Sinai was undesirable to most young, excited nurses. Not to Betty. She didn't need the rush of the ER or the cry of new babies to keep her interested. She didn't mind the slightly mild smell that permeated this floor constantly, a mix of cleaning astringent and moth balls. She didn't mind that the nurses who worked this floor were often as old as the patients and had been here just as long. She didn't even mind the shift, the doctor's on call who grumbled whenever she reached out to them as they were certain their patients were on death's door anyway, why did they need to be called at such hours?

What she loved the most, though, was the way the city was just starting to wind down as she rode her bike from a top the large houses on the hill down to the hospital, awaiting her. She loved the way she weaved between the cars stuck in traffic jams, the way they hollered at one another as she skirted between them with ease. She loved that the city slept while she was at work the entire time, and that as she rejoined it in the early morning light and headed back up the hill to her awaiting cottage where no one knew her name, she passed them all without her realizing it again. They didn't see her, her nameless face on an old red bike she had bought off of Craigslist. They didn't notice her as she pushed with all of her might, slightly winded by the time she made it to the house and walked her bike through the gated drive, the sun just peeking around the mountainous homes that surrounded her, saying good morning to every commuter just walking out the door, living the opposite life of her.

They didn't notice her as she pushed her bike to the house, leaning it up against the white stucco and inserted the tiny gold key, her tiny gold key, into the red front door of the pool house. The sweet smell of laundry and peppermint she left in her wake each night as she closed up her house – the cool darkness of the home that she left with the shades drawn all day so not to attract heat. The cup of tea she made herself as she locked the door behind her with a small drop of honey in the bottom. No one could see her as she sunk deep into the couch that now held the slight traces of life, her butt a permanent imprint on one cushion in the corner, and a soft afghan that she pulled up to her chin.

What she loved, truly, was everything about the life she was building that was all her own. It did not have the interest of others as it was, so simply put, boring in every facet. What young girl in her twenties didn't own a car? What young girl uninhibited by a boyfriend or looming parents or a demanding job, with legs and hair like Betty, didn't drive down into the city nightlife to dance to electronica and take one too many shots with a circle of girlfriends? Who worked so diligently during the week just to avoid people at any cost on the weekend, opting instead to pick up used books at Heritage Book Shop on Burton Way for her spare time?

She loved, with her whole heart, that wherever she went she attracted no attention. No one even knew her name, save for a few other book store patrons and a woman who made her coffee occasionally at the hospital café. It was freeing, this life, of flying solo under the radar all on her own. Her and her bike. Her and her tea. Her and the growing shelf of books, weathered and torn, finally filling the voided space on the white clapboard surrounding the television that she hardly turned on. Kay had told her it was a smart TV, equipped with all sorts of movies and shows and music subscriptions her renter had signed up for and for the life of her, as she fumbled with the elaborate remote control with a touch screen, she could not figure it out. "Smart TV", she remembered muttering under her breath as a bright blue screen lit up and stared at her for hours. Mocked her. She had decided then it was better to keep it off. TV would rot her brain, she remembered in a bitter tone, a voice she tried to push to the back of her head. TV would make her stupid.

Betty departed from the hospital at 6am sharp, just as she did every twelve hour she shift she worked – which was more often than not as the hospital did not mind offering the overtime for nurses willing to pick up the night shifts. Betty had reasoned that she could never have too much money, though she did have far too much free time. This seemed to alleviate that disparity. She pulled her light jacket on and zipped it to her chin as the morning air in October was always a bit more crisp than she expected despite the sunshine. At home, this jacket would never do the trick especially for biking, but she shook that thought from her head quickly. This was home now. Thoughts like that didn't help for anything.

She walked down to the docking area where deliveries were received at the hospital and the few bike racks were located, her own red bike standing amongst the three in line. Biking was not popular in Los Angeles, it would appear, at least not to health care professionals, which always made Betty laugh a little. Biking was what helped her feel alive most mornings, what stood in place of a large cup of coffee when the cold air bit her eyes, making them water as she flew like liquid down the hill, as fast she would let herself fall and coast. Why anyone would choose to drive when they could bike was beyond her, especially in this traffic, she surmised. She pushed her foot forward as she mounted and coasted out of the parking lot, onto the side walk as her legs, growing stronger with each ride, began their real work. It took about half an hour to get home on a good day, which Betty considered fair to get anywhere in LA, even if it was a bit of an uphill hike. While crossing Santa Monica was a bit tough, once she made it into the hilly valleys of the neighborhood she now called home, it all went by in a blur.

Large home after large home, gardeners and landscapers, delivery vehicles and pool cleaners were the only ones awake early enough with her, tending the homes that she would never be privy to the owners of. She had assumed many were movie stars, as the number of black cars and photographers sometimes hunched outside one or another in the evening hours always spoke volumes to her, but they never piqued her interest quite enough. What did she care if a celebrity lived on her block, in her neighborhood? They were even less likely to notice a simple blonde girl in hospital scrubs on a bike and, really, she wouldn't want that anyway. Why would anyone want to be on television, all the time, for the world to see? Why would anyone want to be followed outside of their home, day and night, in hopes of capturing a picture of them? Why would that be the life they chose? Did they choose knowing how much of their true life they would be giving up, giving away to strangers?

She pedaled harder than usual as she reached the crescent of her street, just before her own driveway, where the pivot to the left onto the gravel always required the most amount of work. She stopped short just as she turned, and looked over own shoulder. This was her house, wasn't it? The sky was brightening with each passing second and with it, a swell built in Betty's chest as she realized the longer she stood in the drive, staring into the vast yard was one more second she was exposed the street, not protected in the cave of her home.

The gate was open. The gate, its huge double wooden panels, larger than the length of three cars, was open and there, in the distance, were two tire marks leading to the great house. A black sedan was parked, abandoned, blocking the view to the cottage that she normally made a beeline towards. Betty slowed her breath considerably, gripping the handle bars a little tighter and feeling the squeeze and tension in the palms of her hands.

Yes, the gate was open. Yes, there was a car, but really, no people. None that she could see, anyway. If only she could tell how long it had been there. If only Kay had called her or texted – sent an email, to let her know someone would be coming. Betty dismounted the bike and began to walk it, tentatively, around the inconspicuous vehicle standing in her path. As she drew closer she could see a kitchen light on where there was none before. A laptop bag sat on the kitchen counter through the large bay windows where she had assumed no one had ever eaten breakfast in that kitchen nook. It had been three months. There was never a laptop bag in that house for three months.

Still, no movement from within as she walked slowly past and she averted her eyes down, hoping that if she did not see them, whoever "them" might be, that they would not see her in return. 'Don't be stupid' she reasoned with herself, shaking her own head and the blonde strand that had once escaped her pony tail before fell down, in her line of vision. She pushed it away again, her hands shaky on the bike. She approached the white stucco and leaned it up against her home, as she always did, fumbling deep in her scrub pocket past her wallet to the find the little gold key. The only key she possessed on the loneliest key ring. Her fingers shook as she placed it in the lock and she scolded herself for such nonsense behavior. It was just a car. It was just a laptop bag. This was still her home.

Once inside she let out a long, slow breath. The air was the same, of laundry and peppermint from a candle she refused to light but loved to breathe deep breaths in of as she walked by. Everything was as she left it, completely untouched. There sat her stack of books, the half read latest open on the couch where she left it. Her tea mug, she could see, was resting near the sink in the kitchenette and the crust of her toast was still on a plate from last night before she left. The peanut butter was still out. She could make out into the bedroom the unmade bed and the impression her head left on the pillow from her daytime slumber. Her towel was hung haphazardly on the rack in the bathroom, the only faintest light peeking in from outside passed the drawn shades. She assessed, more than anything else, she probably needed to clean as she could not remember in the last three months when she had. Why did she really need to, though? Who else was to see this secret space? Who else was to eat her toast and comment on her unmade bed?

Betty locked the door behind her as she emptied the contents of her scrub pockets on to the small kitchen table, big enough for two – or really, only one if she wanted to do the Sunday crossword. She began the tap for the kettle and rinsed her mug while she waited for it to fill, setting it on the tiny white stove top, the click click of the gas as she lit the igniter and small blue flame came to life. She leaned back, her hands reaching to her lower back, so that she could stretch away the time she spent lifting and rolling heavier, elderly patients and the fatigue that work put on her muscles. She could feel the burn deep in her shoulders and she closed her eyes for a second, letting the stretch all the way into the backs of her legs. She pulled the hem of her scrub top up and over her head, leaving her white tank top in its place and she rolled her neck. She could feel the tired starting, slowly, to invade her as it always did after a long shift.

She slid her tennis shoes off of her tired feet and pushed them towards the front door, heading to the bedroom and finding her pair of gray discarded shorts on the floor where she left them, trading them for the scrub bottoms. She reached up and pulled the pony tail away from her head, letting the blonde hair fall down in tumbles and hit her shoulders. She reached up and scratched the tension away, melting into the familiar feeling of herself again.

The kettle whistled and she headed back toward the kitchenette, plucking a tea bag from the jar and letting it hang over the edge of the white mug with its tiny dotted yellow flowered design that came with the house. The water steamed into her face as she poured slowly from the kettle and the rosy glow of the tea spread into the water before her eyes. She smelled it second, the chamomile and lemon and she allowed one small drop of honey to fall from the spool on the counter she kept before she walked it, warming her hands and her face, toward her spot on the couch.

It enveloped her, as it did every early morning she found her home in its folds. She pushed herself deep into the corner of the sectional, letting her feet stretch out straight in front of her on the other cushions and she drew her first long, slow sip from the scalding liquid. She eyed the paperback waiting for her attention, but decided that it could wait until this afternoon when she woke. She had nothing to do in the upcoming evening without a scheduled work shift and those nights were always the hardest to fill. Maybe some Chinese food. Maybe a puzzle, or a walk along Mulholland. Maybe she would finally try to figure out that television, but no, she smiled. She was never going to figure out that TV, who was she kidding.

Another sip, another until most of the mug was empty and she set it on the coffee table on a shell decorated coaster. So many shells, so much beach décor for a house that was nowhere near the ocean. Her heavy eyelids blinked and through a white wooden shutter she could see the sun making its blazing appearance across the golden sky. Her eyelids, gold on the inside and then black.


	3. Not FP Jones

3

Betty felt the car door slam in her chest, the same way you can feel someone walking through the house when you're trying to sleep. You can't hear it, but the feel – sharp, thudding and it jarred Betty awake with a start. How long had she been asleep? She pulled herself slowly from the pull of the couch and shook her head, her hair a tangle to one side. Her neck hurt slightly from sleeping almost sitting. She looked behind her and the sun, still blinding, was higher in the sky. It must be after noon. She stumbled to her feet and made her way to the kitchenette table, her phone untouched since the night before when she checked the time for a patient chart. Who would call her? Who would send her texts? Why would anyone follow someone else's pictures on a social media site? What was the point of making yourself so public, so naked to everyone's eyes?

2:38pm. That was about right. Most days she was able to get a good six hours, maybe more depending on how many days in a row she had worked. Eight hours was a gift she would gladly take, despite still feeling groggy. She shuffled to the fridge and poured herself a glass of juice in one of the small, crystal clear juice glasses that came with the house. All the oddities that came with the house. The tiny forks no one would bother eating a piece of chicken with. The towels with the monogrammed J on all of them, which were rough on her face when she actually used them. The drawer of cufflinks she found in the bedroom night stand. Cufflinks, maybe fifty of them, all mismatched and thrown in so that they rolled every time she opened the drawer. It was maddening. What ever happened to a good old fashioned bible in a night stand?

It was then, as she assessed all the items she inherited in her new space that she remembered the ghost she inherited them from and she meandered to the front door, slowly, leaning up against the wooden shutters. The black car was gone. The front gate was closed behind it. Maybe that was it. Maybe they came and went just the one time. Maybe they forgot their favorite black dress in a large, expansive closet that held too many items and they came in all the way from Berlin just to get that one Donna Karan. What a miraculous life, she thought, as she let that idea soak all the way in. That someone could commission a plane just to come get a dress from a house that they had all but forgotten about. Betty smiled. The lives people lead.

She showered, quickly, as she always thought she heard sounds whenever she showered though she was positive that here, of all places, no one had any idea where she lived or how to come find her. She threw on a light pink t-shirt, one of three t-shirts she owned, and a pair of gray cloth shorts. She let her wet hair hand and air dry as she made the bed for the first time in weeks and loaded the dishwasher. She threw the towels into the washing machine with her scrubs and lined up her name badge, her phone, her wallet along the counter. The only things she really had in their place. She hesitated, staring for several seconds and then decided. It was time to light the candle.

At four she decided she had waited long enough to place her order for Chinese food and made the call to pick it up. She reached up to touch the still drying locks, taking on soft curls as they did whenever she left her hair to its own devices, and remembered she didn't care who saw her or what she looked like. She grabbed the wallet, the phone, the little gold key and headed back out into the sunlight for her bike.

It was in the driveway, making her way across the crunching gravel that she heard it first. The chatter of voices, the low rumble of talking. Multiple voices and a car starting, another car pulling into space. Someone yelling at someone else to move over, someone talking on their phone. Now that she listened even closer, more and more phones chiming. She made her way up to the double gate, the large panel of wood and touched it hesitantly with her fingers. She couldn't see over it, around it. She couldn't have a clue what was waiting on the other side. Surely they sounded closer than they actually were. She shook her head and thought of her awaiting food, the bike handles clenched tight in her fist. She pressed the green key pad and slowly, the mechanical whir of the doors opening started to generate, the way her old garage door at home sounded as it was revving into place.

It was drowned out quickly by a clacking, a rapid fire click. She thought for a second a gun, a machine gun. Did they sound like that? Did they sound so quick? Did they sound so light, like fly swatters hitting windowpanes over and over and over again, flapping? She barely had seconds to register the sound because the barrage of lights that followed were blinding. Betty's hand went up quickly to her eyes, the white popping matching for each click. They were cameras. They were hundreds of cameras. The voices grew louder and with a start she took a step back, dropping her bike. She tripped over the pedal and fell, ass first, into the gravel with a thud. Her hands went out to catch her behind as she fell, the rocks digging deep into her palm. The clicking didn't stop.

"FP! FP JONES! LOOK OVER HERE!" voices shouted and Betty, in confusion, looked in any direction she could. Faces descended coming closer up the driveway. "FP, are you glad to be home?" "FP! Where are you off to next? Where's your family, FP? FP, LOOK OVER HERE!" the barrage, the questions, coming even faster than the cameras. She could make out feet inching towards her as the gates finally opened fully and then, the sudden stop. Betty shielded her face with one hand, and, looking up at it noticed that it was bloody with dirt and gravel.

"It's not him! It's a housekeeper!" a voice called out and the retreat began, the murmur of voices as the many voices started their way back down the driveway. All but one, a hesitant young man who stayed in place on the driveway, looking back to the crowd. He stared at Betty hard as she wiped her hand slowly on her gray shorts, leaving behind a streak.

"Hey," he called. She inspected the cuts closer – shallow, but stinging and disgusting. Did she even own bandaids? What kind of nurse doesn't own bandaids in her own house?

"Hey," he called again and she looked up, registering his presence. He leaned forward further, feet from her, hovering as his brows drew in concern. "You ok? Sorry, we didn't realize…"

"I'm- I just-" she began, looking behind her. She looked forward again, and the individuals that were once before on her like wolves were taking seats again at the bottom of the driveway, hovering around their own cars, playing on their phones, their voices a low rumble of sounds in the distance.

The man hesitated for a second more before taking two tentative steps toward her. "I'm not actually allowed to come up past the gate unless you invite me," he motioned toward her. "We didn't mean to scare you, really. Sorry. We thought you were FP Jones."

"FP Jones?" she murmured in response, standing slowly onto her own shaky feet. She began to peel the bike up off the ground with her one uncut hand, her ass aching from the fall.

"Yeah, FP Jones. The musician?"

"The musician?" she asked again, looking behind her. She was covered in dust and couldn't decide which was more crucial. Cleaning herself up, or getting her food. Cleaning or food."

"Don't you clean his house?" he asked with a smile. She shook her head, still not making her eyes meet his own.

"I rent this pool house," she answered and he stopped short, assessing her.

"You rent FP Jones' pool house?" he clarified.

"I rent this pool house," she said again, slowly, "I don't know who it belongs to."

"So you," he chuckled, putting his hands on his hips, disbelieving "Just happen to be renting the pool house of a rock legend and have no idea." It was a statement, a mocking fact and Betty looked up, square in the eye of what now felt like an accuser.

"I didn't invite you beyond the gate," she finally mumbled and he put his hands up in recognition, taking one large step back behind the imaginary line that protected her from the individuals waiting like a pool of sharks below.

"So you're waiting for FP Jones? To what?"

"Come home," he answered, like she was a complete idiot. "We take pictures. I take pictures of celebrities. And word has it FP Jones is home from his European tour."

"No one's home. No one lives in the house. It's just me. So, you can tell everyone to leave," Betty answered coldly. She tried to sound sure of herself, confident as she motioned towards the individuals below blocking her path to crab Rangoon's.

"Well, as much as I appreciate the honesty," he smiled, with heavy emphasis on the last word, "we spotted FP Jones – or someone who looks a hell of a lot like him – pulling in around 11pm last night and only his driver left this afternoon. So if it's all the same to you, we're just gonna stick around to be sure." With that, he saluted her and began his walk down the drive way.

The sickness, like bile, rose quickly to Betty's throat as the panic set in. She had no idea, none whatsoever, who FP Jones was or what he did or where he sang or why he was in Europe but she knew, without a doubt, that having one hundred strangers sitting outside and blocking her path to the one doorway to freedom would be a living nightmare. They couldn't stay. They couldn't.

"Wait," she called and he stopped, turning to look at her.

"How long…how long will you wait for him?"

"As long as it takes," he answered quickly. She winced.

"And what if he doesn't come out? What if he stopped in and left just as quickly and you missed it or something?"

"He didn't," he assured her. Again, the wave of bile, the nausea creeping into her watering mouth. She swallowed, hard.

"Look uh-" she stopped short, gesturing to him.

"Kevin. Keller," he finished. He hesitated himself before extending his right hand and approaching Betty. She looked down at her own mangled hand before grimacing and he dropped his in understanding. He wore a peach polo, the kind that an Old Navy model might wear and it complimented his perfectly coifed hair, the dazzling smile of capped white teeth that he held in his mouth. Betty wondered if truly everyone was beautiful in this town but her. Did they all come here and just hope to stumble onscreen, that no one would notice?

"Kevin you don't understand. I can't – you can't – please. You have to get them to go away. I didn't sign up for this."

"You didn't sign up to live in a millionaire's pool house on one of the most well-known streets in Hollywood?" he sighed.

"I – no!" she exclaimed, unsure what she was answering. It was an ad. It was an immediate pool house to rent in the right price and the right place. It was close to her work. They didn't need references. She didn't know how to start to explain that.

"The renter is never here. I don't even know who owns this house I just know that I rent that pool house and I ride a bike."

"Which is adorable, Dorothy. Really. But, I don't know what you want me to tell you?" he asked her slowly, backing away.

"I can't live like this. I work! Are you saying every time I open these gates you're going to assume it's FP Jones and try to take my picture? Don't I have any privacy?"

"You have plenty of privacy. We truly don't give a rat's ass about you. Just…you know, stay out of the way of the real pictures."

"But. I need Chinese food," she whined aloud, almost inaudible. Kevin stared at her, hands on his hips as he assessed that which was the mess standing before him. Bleeding, claiming to be starving to death, dirty from the gravel. Her hair askew and curling in all directions, blowing around her head. He looked behind him to the mass of photographers, hovering, some witnessing and watching the interaction closely. Kevin's eyes lit up and he turned to Betty slowly, a smile entering his perfectly symmetrical face, the features like a college frat boy. His camera hung low around his neck and Betty could tell that whatever it was he was about to say, she would hate it. She would loathe it. She couldn't possibly.

"Tell you what," he proposed. "Go on up to that big beautiful house, knock on the door and tell your dear land lord that as soon as he comes out and smiles nicely, we'll go away. And off to your dumplings you go."

Betty swallowed, loudly, hard. "I don't….order…dumplings."

Kevin smiled patiently. Betty hesitated, clenching her fists, the pain searing in her hand from the squeeze.

With that, she turned on her heel, leaving her bike in her wake. Kevin perked up, disbelieving that this was actually happening. He watched with hawklike eyes as Betty strode, no stomped, towards the looming white bricked house and up onto the porch she had not dared to give a second glance. The knocker on the large oak door stood before her and she actually felt like Dorothy, hesitating at the door of Oz. With a deep breath, she reached up and pulled it into place, clanging with a deafening thud that she was sure echoed through the house.

The silence that followed was even more deafening. Betty waited, breath bated as she hoped someone would answer the door but prayed at the same time no one would. FP Jones. Did he sing country music? Did Kevin say rock legend? Rock on the actual radio? She pictured Ozzy Osbourne biting off a bat's head, as was her only reference of true rock and roll legends and she swallowed again, her prayers becoming louder than her hopes. Please don't answer the door. Please don't answer the door.

She waited a full minute before turning to Kevin where she stood and putting her arms up in a shrug.

"I told you, no one was-" but Kevin's eyes grew three times their size as he watched behind her. She heard the unmistakable click of the lock, then another lock and the slow pull of the heavy oak dragging across the doorframe. She raised his camera high and the crowd behind him grew within mere seconds, their feet pattering up the drive with furious intensity, trying to get in front of one another.

Betty turned, slowly, in time to see the door wedge open just a small crack and a face appeared. A young face, not one she expected a rock legend to have at all. He couldn't be older than twenty three, twenty four, much like herself, with hair dark and curly that hung onto his fore head. His eyes were drawn, unmistakably sleepy as if she had woken him from an afternoon coma, and he reached up to rub one before pushing the hair off his forehead. He wore an old t-shirt with The Clash on the front the way an old print newspaper would read.

Betty expected the barrage to start, the clicking of furious motion to go on behind her with the same intensity as before. Instead, however, she peered behind the see that the cameras that were once raising in anticipation were lowering again and voices were backing down, calling to one another.

"It's just his son! It's not him."

"Jughead! Hey Jughead, where's your dad? Is he home?"

"Go get FP! FP, come on out!"

"Hey Jughead, where's daddy huh? Is he home?" a mocking tone called out. The young man's face in front of her grew to a low scowl as he stared at her, then through her as he called down the driveway.

"He's in Ireland, you homeless fucks. Now get the hell out of my driveway!" he began to close the door again but stopped short, staring her in the eye, dark on blue. Her face, drained of all color, stared back, suddenly aware of how close they were to one another.

"Don't you know the rules?" he asked lowly. "Get the fuck off my porch and out of my driveway," he began and Betty, the words stuck in her mouth, shook her head furiously.

"I – I didn't-" she began but he didn't hear her. The oak door slammed with a final thud in her face and she stumbled back, almost falling again. She realized then she hadn't breathed at all from the moment he answered the door and she stood, dumbstruck, feeling terrible at having bothered him at all. She was so stupid. She should have just gone back to her little cottage, to her kitchenette and had peanut butter again. Why had she opened her stupid mouth? Why had she knocked on the damn door?

She turned to see Kevin waiting for her, an apologetic shrug to his shoulders as he called out. "Well pumpkin, no worries now. You can go get those dumplings after all. We're out of here," he waved and he joined the pack as they gathered their cameras and bags, as the low rumble of vans and cars starting began in the distance. They slowly started to disappear, down the driveway and out of the street.

"It's that easy? You don't… you don't want his picture instead?" she asked as she made her way back over to her bike, righting it again. Kevin shook his head and smiled.

"That Turkish Delight was Jughead Jones, FP's son. Not exactly a lover of the camera, unless he's on the other side of it," he answered and he looked at Betty with a sympathetic smile. "His reputation is…harsh?" he tried. Betty raised her eyebrows in curiosity.

"Just, stay out of his way and you'll be fine, I'm sure."

"What the hell does that mean?" she asked as she threw one leg over the bike and Kevin laughed.

"Don't you have a Googler or something?" he called, "you should learn to know your neighbors."

"I didn't have neighbors," she answered in a whisper that Kevin could not hear. She looked back at the large house, at the dim light that stayed on in the kitchen as the October sun started to be pulled into its descent. There was no movement once again as if she didn't know better, she would be sure it was still abandoned. She sighed heavily, realizing that she was perhaps not so hungry after all. She pressed her good hand against the green pad as the large gates began to close, the heavy wooden doors blocking off the street waiting below, faces disappearing into the distance. She looked down at her palm, still a mess, and walked her bike back toward the little cottage, the awaiting tea and peanut butter and a good book. She pushed her bike against the white stucco and dug out the tiny gold key once again, letting herself into the cave that awaited her, the peppermint candle and hopefully a band air or two. She looked over her shoulder one more time at the looming giant in the distance. In the large bay window where a fireplace sat beyond, she could see him, a lone silhouette in the kitchen light standing, watching her as she let herself into the pool house. He didn't move, didn't wave, didn't speak. He simply stared until she disappeared from site, locking the little red door behind her.


	4. Peace and Privacy

Betty spent the rest of the evening pacing the small floors of the cottage that night, unsure of what to do with her twiddling hands and bitten lower lip. She had never felt worse than she did in this moment. How could she have knocked on his door, when her entire objective was to fly so low under the radar that she disappeared from the sky completely?

She watched with bated breath the house closely that night. At six pm, as she finished off the last of her loaf of bread and peanut butter, the kitchen lights come on brighter than before and the lone figure was seen pulling open cupboards and the refrigerator, finding nothing of interest as they banged open and closed. Betty sighed, surveying her own empty kitchen. "I know how you feel," she mumbled. She lamented her cold Chinese food, waiting on a take-out counter for her never to arrive.

At eight pm, the large television flickered on in the grand living room, revealing a bright blue screen. She could see the silhouette push buttons on the remote and the screen flickered – blue, blue, blue like a techno rave, but still no picture. She smiled, glancing at her own TV. Yes, that sounded about right.

At ten thirty, a light in the far wing near the south of the house came on revealing a bedroom that she had never seen before. The details from so far between a wooden shutter's flaps were hard to make out, though she could see the figure sitting on the edge of a bed, his head in the palms of his hands as he leaned forward, clearly tired or frustrated or maybe both. It was several moments of sitting before he finally sat up suddenly and turned to the window. Though Betty was sure he could not see her through her own drawn shades, she gasped and pulled back suddenly, feeling caught. By the time she made her way back to the window, the lights were off in the rest of the house. He had gone to bed, or left. She hoped he had left.

She made her way to her own dark bedroom and took off her shorts, leaving only her t-shirt against the cool sheets that were freshly made. She pulled the down comforter up to her chin, breathing in the fabric softener deeply, listening to the sound of lonely crickets outside. It was the first time she had felt completely alone since being in this house, and the first time she had truly not been with the presence of her new visitor.

Betty woke with a start from a restless night's sleep. It was always hard trying to get on track to regular days and nights after several night shifts. She was well rested but confused, looking around her small bedroom sharply. The light was just coming up through the shades, telling her that it was the time she might normally be walking out of a shift at work six, maybe six thirty am. She lay there, perfectly still, assessing her options for the day when she heard it. A knock, low and sharp at her front door. She held her breath.

It came again. Two quick raps. She didn't dare move a toe out of place. Maybe if she just stayed perfectly –

"I'm not going away," the voice called, clearly irritated. Betty finally let a long, slow breath out. Fine. She swung her legs out from beneath her covers and searched for the pair of shorts, pulling them on roughly. Taking a second longer, she grabbed a hoody and pulled it over her t-shirt, concealing herself beneath it. She made her way to the front door and much like his answer from the day before, pulled it open a crack revealing only her profile to the stranger.

It was him, just as irritated and tired looking as the day before, but this time standing on her porch demanding attention. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans, his hands shoved roughly in his pockets. She had not realized yesterday how tired he truly looked, with a slight purplish hue underneath both of those dark eyes, like obsidian. He barely brought his eyes to meet her own, choosing instead to focus on the door frame directly to the right of her head, only appearing to be looking in her direction. The best way she could describe him was lanky…long and lean. Tall. What did they call him again? Jarhead? Wasn't that a movie?

"Good morning," she answered quietly.

"Yeah, morning, look. I called our realtor and my dad and it looks like there was a little confusion so we're going to have to revisit this arrangement we have here," he stated quickly, matter of fact. Betty started and pulled the door open a little more, revealing her fully confused face.

"Excuse me?"

"This lease, or whatever. You, living here. I guess there was some confusion and she didn't realize I was going to be back in the fall so. We'll have to make arrangements for you to find somewhere else to live." He shrugged, unapologetic. Betty felt a rage, an anger she had not felt in so many months, begin to generate in her chest and her fist closed around her bandaged palm.

"You can't do that," she stated and he finally looked square in to her eyes.

"Yes, I can. I own this house."

"Your father owns this house?" she retorted and she could see his nostrils flare, piquing his own rage into a flame.

"My family owns this house which means I'm a part owner. Look, I'm not fighting you on this. I'm sorry there was confusion or, whatever but…I'm home now for an undetermined amount of time and it won't work. You being here."

"Why can't I be here?" she asked, trying to remain calm. "I won't bother you. You won't even know I'm around."

"Uh, you're a little hard to ignore when you're knocking on people's doors."

"That was a mistake."

"You were baiting me for paparazzi."

"I wasn't baiting you! I was –"

"Baiting my father?"

"I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention. I just wanted to leave the driveway and they – he – had said that if I – if I…"

"I'm not interested. I really don't care. I don't have time for celebrity squatters to be back here spying on me and selling pictures of me and my family."

"I don't want pictures of you. I don't even know who you, or your father, for that matter are."

"Sure you don't," he sighed sarcastically. Betty clenched her fists again, her heart filling faster and faster with irritation. She closed her eyes briefly before remembering, for just a moment, who she was and where she came from before this. The kind of strength she was capable of. The words that always knew how to save her.

"Look, you're right. I don't have time to fight you on this either. So I suggest you call Kay and remind her that a signed lease has contingencies in it that protect the renter as much as the leaser. Eviction is a much lengthier process than coming out here at six am, which is an atrocious time to be knocking on a door I might add, without a reason for eviction. My rent is paid in full for another three months and the lease itself doesn't expire for eight so unless you have proof that I'm running a dog fighting ring out of this sad excuse you call a bathroom in here or that I'm cooking meth in that half oven during all of my spare time, I suggest you lawyer up and figure out how you're going to make this work because I'm. Not. Leaving." She could feel her breath shaking, coming out in spurts. He stared at her, incredulous, his own mind working at a rapid pace.

"I'm quiet," she finally uttered, trying to reason with him. "I work more than anything else, the night shift so it's not like I'm going to be throwing loud parties. I don't even use the pool. I come in and I come out and I stay out of the way. I won't…knock….ever again and I'm sorry for that, I was overwhelmed. I didn't expect to see anyone in the driveway, let alone hundreds of cameras. I'm sorry, ok?"

He considered her for several more moments, his jaw tight. Finally, he dropped his head into a nod before turning on his heel and heading back towards to the massive house in the distance.

"No you're not," he stated, a sarcastic ring to his tone. "But you will be."

He left Betty standing in her doorway, watching his lone figure stride away, mouth agape.

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"Well," Kay began, standing in the middle of the pool house living room, arms spread out and a wide smile, fake to the core, plastered on her face, "What I think we have here is a good old fashioned misunderstanding." Betty, her arms crossed, sat quietly on the couch while the lanky boy – could she even call him a man with the amount of pouting he was doing – sat across from her. Both of their eyes avoided one another.

"Kay it's simple. We're just looking for Jughead to have a little peace"-

"And privacy," Jughead supplied, his voice directed to the cell phone lying on the coffee table. A heavy sigh responded belonging to a man who was obviously too tired to be having this conversation.

"And privacy," he agreed. Betty scowled.

"I agree. I love peace and privacy," she nodded her head. Jughead rolled his eyes in her direction.

"Difficult to do when you're knocking-"

"I told you that would not happen again!" Betty exploded. Kay waved her arms frantically.

"Mr. Jones, I apologize for this inconvenience. I think that we can all agree today that if we can come to an understanding about the space and the privacy…"Kay began, gesturing towards the two of them. Betty and Jughead sat, staring at her, unmoving.

"Let's just solve this now. We're happy to refund all paid rent, obviously, as well as six month's rent to be out of the pool house in two weeks. Obviously, Kay, you'll be expected to help our renter find a more suitable space in that time and all moving arrangements will be-"

"It's not…it's not about the money," it was Betty's turn to speak to the voice on the phone. The room grew quiet.

"Mr. Jones," she continued, quietly, looking down at her bandaged hand, "I don't need your money. I just like the space. It suits me. I like privacy and quiet and this house," she surmised, gesturing around her to a room he couldn't see, "This house has that for me. It hides me. It's small and furnished and quiet and I'm not bothering anybody here. In fact, before this, I doubt you even knew I was renting it. Just…I don't care who you are or what you do or sing or don't sing or where in Europe you're touring. I just…I just want to stay. I won't be a bother. I won't knock on a door or talk to a photographer, I won't…whatever it is you don't want me to do." For the first time, she looked up to see Jughead staring at her, his dark eyes taking her in as she spoke, his face stone still, unmoving. No emotion played on his eyes or lips.

The room was silent for several seconds and Betty thought, perhaps, they had dropped the call altogether.

"Mr. Jones," Kay finally called out, "to be fair….the lease is pretty tight. To evict Elizabeth would be next to-"

"Who the hell is Elizabeth?" Jughead interrupted.

"I'm Elizabeth," Betty supplied.

"Betty is short for Elizabeth?" he asked incredulously. There it was again, that rage, bubbling to her lips.

"What exactly is Jughead short for? Assface? Are you Assface Jones?"

"You are adorably clever!" Jughead roared in response and Betty's hands came up to her hips, ready to rise to her feet as Jughead pulled his hands to his hair, pulling tightly at the dark ends as he raked fingers through the locks. "Get out of my house!"

"I hate to burst your bubble, oh ye without a mortgage, but it is your daddy's house if I'm not mistaken."

"Says the soon-to-be homeless squatter if you don't get your blonde ass-"

"Enough," the gruff voice on the end of the cell phone called out. He wasn't angry, he wasn't anything more than tired it sounded to Betty. "Enough. She stays. Jughead, pick up the phone. Kay, we'll be speaking tomorrow about the terms of the lease."

"Of course," Kay confirmed. Betty looked up, shocked, to see Jughead's eyes bugging out of his head. If she looked close enough, she could almost see the steam coming out of his ears. His glare stared her down for several seconds before he snatched the phone off the coffee table and put it to his ear, turning on his heel and storming towards the big house. Kay was left alone with Betty, in the silence of the pool house, looking to one another.

"Jughead is…." Kay began but Betty raised her hand and shook her head.

"I don't…I don't care. I just want to be left alone."

"Of course. I'll send you an update tomorrow should Mr. Jones and I discuss further." With that, Kay showed herself to the front door, following Jughead's stormy path. Betty clicked it closed behind them and locked the tiny handle.

She sat down on the couch in silence for several seconds, considering what had just happened. She had won. She never won. She couldn't remember the last time she had ever come out on top of anything and this, finally, was a win in the Betty Cooper handbook. So why, why, did she feel so terrible?

Betty stewed for several more minutes before finally standing and heading out the front door. She skirted around the pool house, as she had done so many times in the past, up the gravel driveway, one painstakingly determined step after another as she trod up to the house. The house she swore she would leave alone, that she would disappear from, that she wouldn't bother.

She knocked. The backdoor this time, found in the kitchen, directly facing the house she lived in an acre away. She considered, for just a second, making a run for it and pretending like she hadn't done something so incredibly stupid at all when the door opened. Dammit.

"You have got to be kidding me," the voice began and she turned to find herself eye to eye with the disgruntled man who wanted her to so desperately disappear.

"I know," she began and she held up her hands, hoping to show a sign of truce. "I know and I won't knock any more. This isn't like that I just wanted to apologize."

"You wanted to apologize?" he asked sarcastically, disbelieving. He was barely even looking at her, trying to focus on anything else in his eyesight, in the kitchen, in the yard behind her. He avoided her very existence and she could feel it with each passing second she stood before him.

"Yes. I wanted to apologize for….the Assface." He looked at her, finally in the eye.

"It was rude…to call you…Assface," she stumbled over her words. "Obviously Jughead isn't short for….that. So, I'm sorry. Really." She peered up at him, waiting for a response, shrugging as she had no other explanation for her behavior.

He didn't respond for a few moments and finally sighed. "Is that all?" he asked, irritated to still be standing on the deck, humoring her apology. She swallowed. What an idiot. What an absolute idiot she had been, she thought to herself, her cheeks flaming red. What a sincere apology she had intended and for what? For him?

"Yeah, that's it," she affirmed. He nodded once and closed the door in her face, leaving her alone on the porch.

Betty turned away quickly to try and hide the severe amount of shame and embarrassment she wore on her cheeks, though she was sure it was too late. Her heart was pounding in her chest with the stress and heat of being so stupid, of thinking that if she extended the olive branch he might actually take it and just live quietly in the space with her. How could someone so insignificant have the ability to make her feel so small?

How was it she continually let people make her feel this way? He wasn't the first and she surmised, with her track record, he would not be the last.

She stumbled her way quickly back to the little cottage locking herself inside. She did not see the lone figure standing still in the kitchen, watching her trod away, wiping the traces of her shame away from her eyes before they dared to leave tracks down her face.

He let out a long, low breath as her tiny figure disappeared inside and he was alone in his kitchen once again. He couldn't take his eyes off of her pony tail, swaying and blonde and perfect in place high on the crown of her head. He couldn't think of a single girl he knew over the age of eight who wore high pony tails and pink t-shirts. He couldn't get over how plain her face was…barely a trace of make up….just bright eyes and pink lips always like that was the natural state of her face.

He felt a trace of regret as he saw the unmistakable sign of her wiping the tears off her face from behind, of the red that he saw burn her cheeks as she stood before him, offering what he truly believed was a real apology. He supposed, he could have just said thank you. He could have told her not to worry about it. He could have at least said goodbye. Why he pushed her so hard, he wasn't sure. There was something about her that got under his skin from the second he saw her standing on his porch yesterday. From the way she stuttered around words and yet spoke so clearly on the phone to his father and won her case. It infuriated him. It irritated him.

It intrigued him. He watched as he saw her move slowly behind the drawn shades, always in place, only letting his imagination decide what she was doing inside. It did not seem like she had done much with the place when he was in there earlier today, though he honestly couldn't remember what was inside the pool house in all the years he lived in the estate. When was the last time he even used the pool house to grab a soda or towel? She had a few books, from what he could tell, and maybe a blanket. Some groceries. Other than that, it was as if she was the only fixture amongst his mother's odds and ends she decorated the house with. Where were her CD's, her old sweatshirts and headphones? Where were all the telltale signs that a girl inhabited a space…the tubes of chapstick on tables and diet soda cans strewn about? Where was the clutter and mess that only a girl could make of a place in a matter of seconds? He thought of his little sister's own bedroom and cringed at the thought.

He decided, after several moments, that staring at the girl that angered him so in a house he couldn't even see into was getting old. He needed a distraction. He needed to get out of this house and then – he reconsidered. She hated parties? She hated loud noises and a lack of privacy? She had no idea who she was messing with. Jughead smiled to himself before taking the cell phone out of his pocket.


	5. Somebody

A/N A special thank you for the few reviews I've gotten! I know that it is slow to start but I truly hope that it gets where we all want it to be! Thank you so much for your kind thoughts and for reading

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Betty found herself staring out the window of the pool house more in the last few days than she had ever before. Before, it was as if the windows were only little portals to let her know when the sun rose and set, when it was day and when it was night. Now, it was a constant beacon – calling her, drawing her in. What was happening in that house? What was he going to do next?

Every light in the estate was on, blazing, calling her name, like a spot light. She counted twenty seven of them from what she could see. Bathrooms she never knew existed, hallways, upstairs and down. Bedrooms that looked empty, sitting rooms. A room full of books, from what she could tell…maybe a den? An office? Was that another un-working television mounted on a wall?

Where was he, she asked herself scanning each room. The lights of the city were just going down around the houses on the hill and in their place, where it was usually almost so dark she could see the stars…almost that dark…she was next to a spotlight. But why?

It was only a matter of moments before she got her answer. The front gates in all of their thunderous glory slowly parted revealing three cars pulling up the gravel drive. All black sedans, sleek, invisible against the night save for their blinding headlights. They rounded the drive, each in turn, and one by one deposited their contents onto the front porch. A ridiculously sexy raven haired girl in a mini skirt and cropped jacket; a muscular red headed boy in jeans and a leather jacket. They were in their twenties, dripping in what Betty could only assume was their parents money, filtering out of their chauffeured vehicles one by one. They were beautiful.

"Jughead! Let's get this shit started!" a dark haired boy with booze bottles under two arms screamed into the night sky. They were…loud.

"He's having a PARTY?" Betty asked aloud to no one. She looked around her quiet, dimly lit cottage finding no one to hear her out.

Sure enough, Jughead appeared in the doorway with open arms, the first smile she had seen on his face since he got to town. Music from somewhere within the enormous house began to blare and the girls, already hanging off of one another, arms draped around one another's necks, stumbling in their too high heels began to squeal with excitement, traipsing passed him into the house.

As the last guest, maybe fifteen in all, made their way into the home Jughead lingered another moment staring out into the acres of yard. He shifted his gaze to the direction of the pool house. Though she was certain he couldn't see her hiding behind the wooden shutters, his smile grew wider…and he waved in her direction, his joy apparent – just for her. Betty scowled aloud.

"Peace and privacy, huh?" she asked.

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"It's good to have you back, brother" the tall bronze haired boy smiled at Jughead, throwing his arm over his shoulder. He put his weight into the hug, slapping him hard on the back, the feeling reverberating through Jughead's entire lanky body.

"Yeah, thanks Andrews. It's good to be back."

"You home for good, Juggy?" the raven hair girl asked as she began to twist the bottles of liquor open on the counter in front of her. She assessed each one carefully while another girl leaned on her shoulder pointing to her selection.

"Uh yeah, for now I guess," Jughead answered. He ran his hands through his hair, suddenly remembering why it was he had people over so infrequently to begin with. He looked over at two boys picking up a large and expensive vase standing in the corner.

"No, Reggie – stop. Put that down. It's my dad's."

"For now, you guess?" the girl asked, settling on vodka. She poured into her red cup, reconsidered and then poured some more.

"Yeah I mean, I don't know. My mom and sister decided to stay in Como for the school year and my dad is doing twelve more weeks in Europe for the tour so…it just made sense or whatever. Come home, lay low."

"Well, then, a toast!" she declared, raising her glass with a smile. "Archie, you don't have a drink. Juggy! Get a drink, what are we even doing here people? It's a party. It's Friday night!" Jughead smiled and grabbed a nearby empty cup, tipping a dark liquor inside just an inch or two and bringing it to the air while the bronze hair boy did the same with an open beer.

"To Jughead Jones' return home!" she cheered and the three clinked their plastic cups together before bringing them to their lips. Jughead feigned a sip before returning the cup to the counter while the other two tipped their heads back, enjoying and savoring every bit.

"Ronnie, come here! We're going to take a picture!" a voice called from the far living room. She smiled at the boys before turning on a black heel, pulling her jacket forward to straighten her perfectly curled onyx hair.

"Duty calls boys," she laughed before walking off. Archie watched after her, his eyes never leaving her backside.

"So that's a thing now, huh?" Jughead asked Archie, pointing in Ronnie's direction.

"Yeah, it's kind of. Whatever," Archie shrugged with a smile. "How about you? Girls on tour must have been out of control." Jughead winced at the thought, tilting his head to the side.

"Yeah you know…it was…whatever," he conceded.

"You know it's pretty hard to meet girls when you're out wandering the streets alone, taking pictures of chicks who aren't hot."

"It's called photography. I'm not just…taking pictures of girls I don't know. I think that's actually called stalking…"Jughead pondered.

"You know what I mean dude. We're twenty three. It's our time. Go anywhere we want, do anything we want…meet anyone we want…" he trailed off, eyeing Jughead suggestively.

"Yeah on my dad's dime. Thanks but, no thanks."

"Oh whatever, we're all living off the parental dime until the last possible minute. Veronica just bought a boat with her dad's money and you know how she justified it?"

"How?" Jughead asked. Archie smiled.

"She told him she wanted to take up sailing."

"That sounds…"

"Yeah, it's a speed boat. There's no fucking sail anywhere Jug," he laughed, taking another swig of his beer.

"Hiram Lodge didn't notice that small detail? That guys a billionaire. He makes his money off of following every dime in and out of his pocket."

"That's my point, Jug. Hiram Lodge doesn't give a shit. Your dad – he doesn't give a shit. My dad tries to pretend to give a shit but he doesn't. They just want us to stay out of trouble, have fun. Whatever," he smiled again. "So, put down your fucking camera and stop looking in girl's windows like a creeper and come out with us and have some fucking fun."

Jughead's mind turned at the second Archie mentioned girl's windows, wandering for a brief moment to his newest obstacle sharing the same yard. He hoped, as a turn of the tables, she was getting an eyeful right this moment. And an earful. In fact...

"Hey girls!" he yelled into the living room. Four years turned in his direction as they posed strategically in front of the fire place, one of them mock strumming one of his dad's many displayed guitars surrounding the hearth. "You didn't happen to bring suits with you, did you?"

Veronica's eyes lit up like a Christmas Tree as she began to shed the cropped jacket she sported. "You know, we didn't. But that's never stopped us before," she laughed.

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Betty lay in bed, silently staring at the ceiling while the thunderous echoing boom of bass pumped through her veins. She could feel her bed shake just the tiniest bit with each vibration of the music coming from the house. He was unbelievable. She had apologized. APOLOGIZED! For what, she fumed. He was incorrigible, selfish, self righteous-

A loud male scream broke her train of thought, followed by girls laughing and an unmistakable splash. She tensed, grabbing the blanket to her neck. They sounded like they were right outside her-

"Hey you said you didn't bring a suit!"

"I still have to wear something, Archiekins! I'm a lady after all," a voice called in response and more splashing, screaming ensued. Betty tiptoed from the concealment of her bed and made her way to the shuttered windows slowly. There, not ten feet from where her bike stood propped was the estate's pool, brimming with half clothed adults as they splashed and threw one another around. Betty closed her eyes, trying to count to ten. He's trying to get under my skin, she thought. He's trying to infuriate me.

Betty could see from her vantage point that a dark haired girl was clad in nothing but her black bra and underwear as she splashed in the shallow end while three boys took turns diving off the end into the deep, mostly concealed by the night sky as they were just a little too far from the house to have the lights catch them completely. Two more girls were running down the lawn, shedding their tops as well as Jughead who sauntered slowly behind them, hands dug deep in his pockets as he approached the pool. He had eyes for none of them, only staring directly at the head at the pool house looming in his site. Betty scowled, furious.

She considered her options. She could call the cops, a classic hometown move whenever one of the local kids had a loud party and the parents wanted to end it without being the one to come forward and be the heavy. She considered her demographic. The son of a rock legend and his various rich and famous friends. Seemed unlikely that the cops would do much to admonish their behavior.

She contemplated putting on a bathing suit herself and going out to join then – show him that she didn't give a rat's ass about his attempts to drive her out. If only…she remembered she didn't have a suit with her, and she would be damned if she thought going out there in a bra and underwear like these girls was acceptable.

She could ask him nicely to be quiet. That didn't seem to work well based on her track record of talking to him, period. She could yell – to be ignored. She sat down on the couch and put her head into her hands, running her fingers through her loose blonde locks as they fell over her neck and into her vision. She was so tired. This place had been so perfect for three months. This place was everything she needed to conceal herself, to rest, to relax, to just build a life that she wanted. Why did it have to end so abruptly, so awfully? Why did he have to be like this?

She looked at the clock on the wall near the bookshelves. 11:28pm. She shook her head, doing the only thing she could think to do.

She turned on the lamp sitting next to the couch. The tiny living room sprang to life, revealing her shelves of books and thrown afghan draped over the edge of the couch. She stood and walked to the kitchenette, turning the small sink light on there as well. She started the kettle under the tap, placing it on the stove to begin heating. She stretched backwards, much as she did after getting off a long shift and opened her bare cupboards to reveal some honey, a box of cereal. As she was rinsing out her regular mug she noticed that the yard became conspicuously quieter.

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"Dude, is someone in there?" Reggie asked motioning to the pool house. A small light was reflecting from within and the shadow of a figure could be seen walking behind them. Jughead sighed.

"Yeah, uh, it's no one."

"What do you mean, no one Juggy? Someone is in there!" Veronica hissed, pulling her arms up to her chest, trying to conceal the black lace as she began the slow swim to the pool stairs.

"Like a cleaning lady or something live out here?" Archie asked.

"No we rent it. My dad rented the pool house out for the year because he didn't think anyone would be at the house. She's no one."

"It's a she? What kind of she?" Archie asked, his interest piqued with a smile.

"What do you care what kind of she?" Veronica hissed with a laugh. She exited the pool and was huddling up to his side as they all gazed at the house, apparent and obvious.

"Seriously, don't worry about it. Swim, have fun," Jughead tried to encourage but two of the remaining girls shook their heads, obviously embarrassed.

"Jug, it's weird. She what, lives out here? She's probably trying to sleep or something," one of the girls, Josie, commented, pulling her shirt back over her head.

"How old is she?" Reggie asked.

"Don't know," Jughead responded.

"Like, in her thirties you don't know…or she's a grandma and you can't tell how old she is or what?" Reggie pushed. Jughead tried to shrug the inquisition off.

"Like twenties? I honestly have no idea?"

"Dude, twenties? Is she hot?" Reggie asked again. He was standing on his tip toes now, trying to peer up and over the wooden shutters that covered the windows from the inside. Despite trying to avoid eye contact, Jughead caught a glimpse of Betty's blonde head in the kitchen as she reached into a cabinet to take something down.

"Trust me, you don't want anything to do with her."

"Sounds like you don't want anything to do with her, Jughead. She must be pretty "-

"She's not," Jughead cut her off.

"-And smart. How else could she have gotten under your thick skin so easily Jug?" Veronica smiled again, a mischievous smile as she glanced at the house, still curled into Archie's arms.

"She's neither. She's nobody. Forget swimming, let's head back to the house," he motioned as he began his walk towards the estate. Veronica held Archie in place, watching the house closely from where she stood. Betty walked quickly from the kitchenette, tea mug cupped in her palms and her figure could be seen, clad in a pink tank top and white flannel pajamas bottoms as she cut across the small square of light not covered in shutters making her way to the couch.

"Hot! I see hot! She's hot!" Reggie called, victorious.

"Reggie, shut the fuck up!" Archie laughed, pulling Veronica with him as he pivoted back towards the estate. "Let's go, leave her alone. She has to deal with Jughead. That's punishment enough."

"She's nobody," Jughead tried to call again, not bothering to look at them as he pushed forward. Well, that was a bust and hadn't ended nearly as he had hoped.

"Oh I beg to differ, Juggy dear," Veronica called after him with a tinkle in her laughter, "She is most definitely somebody." Jughead sighed, closing his eyes.

Betty watched from the tiny house, her tea cupped in her hands, the aroma permeating her nostrils and making her eyelids heavy. She smiled quietly to herself, not realizing before now that it could be quite so easy.

Or that she was, in fact, somebody.


	6. Maybe

**A/N Thank you so much for the kind words. So happy to hear you're enjoying the story!**

Betty pulled two paperbacks from the shelf, comparing their tattered covers as she thumbed through them. She always preferred the ones that had the writing of previous owners inside, but neither of the copies she currently held in her hands held a trace of being owned save for their torn and worn edges. She put one in her basket that was already filling, the other back on the shelf and headed to the check-out desk to complete her purchases.

She glanced at her watch. She had just enough time to grab a coffee next door before heading back up the hill to shower and change before work. She prayed silently to herself that this week would be the start of heading back into her normal routine. If her and Jughead, who had been quiet the rest of the weekend, could simply pass one another like ships in the night, everything would be so much easier.

Betty pulled up to the familiar gravel driveway, anxiety already brewing in her stomach at the thought of even having to see him. As she punched the numbers into the keypad and the large gated doors sprung open, Betty sighed heavily. Even from a distance she could see the tell-tale signs of bodies sunning and swimming by the pool. She had spent the majority of the day out and about, praying that creating space would be enough to make him happy. How angry could he be at her if she was never even there?

She looked down at her own outfit, a white tank top and cut off jean shorts. It had been an unreasonably warm fall compared to what she was used to in the Midwest and the rain just hadn't come the way she had hoped to bring any relief. While at one point she might have considered the pool for her personal use, that was when nobody ever came and went from the house. Now, it was completely off the table – she wouldn't be caught dead that exposed to him. She felt stupid even now in her summer outfit, being forced to stride in front of them. Betty contemplated just forgoing work altogether. Maybe she could call in…but no. That wasn't Betty's character. She would walk past them, smile politely and say nothing. She would make her entrance and exit as minimal as possible.

She realized quickly how impossible that would be as she began her approach, her bike handles clenched firmly in her whitened knuckles. She felt childish with her canvas bags full of groceries and tattered paperbacks sitting snuggly in the basket on the front of her bike. She was twenty three years old. Why did she need a bike basket like a four year old? The voices, once light and laughing, began to diminish as Betty, head tucked into her chest, walked slowly in their direction. From the corner of her eye she could see the same dark haired girl lounging in a chair on the far side of the pool, next to two more girls in cheetah print bathing suits. The red haired boy was on the edge of the pool, ready to dive in head first when he stopped short, assessing her from a far. Betty propped her bike up against the house and pulled her bags out to sling over her shoulder. It was maybe twenty steps total to the front door…if she could only make it there with no further interaction.

"It's a great day for a swim," the dark hair girl called out. Betty turned her head slightly to acknowledge the comment, with a small smile and nod, and continued on.

"You know, you can join us if you'd like," she continued, "We don't bite."

"Much," one of the other girls laughed.

"I'm ok, thank you for the invitation. I have to be to work soon," Betty smiled again. She had her key gripped tightly in her fingers. In lifting her head, she could see Jughead was amongst them on a lounge chair, tipped almost all the way back. He was in a black bathing suit and white t-shirt, his fair skin mostly covered while his dark hair fell into his face. He was wearing ear buds, obvious to the world, his eyes closed as he took in the sun.

"You have to go to work now?" the red haired boy called, disbelief in his face.

"Yeah, I'm a nurse. I work night shifts so…I go in later…"Betty felt like an idiot explaining. She pushed the tiny key into the gold handle, struggling with the weight of her bags as she did so.

"Like, a nurse for sick people?" the girl called. Betty stopped short and stared at her, a little confused by the question.

"Yes…for geriatric – er, elderly patients. I'm at Cedar Sinai."

"I would so love to help old people. It's just that they like, gross me out a little bit? You know?" one of the girls in a cheetah bathing suit commented. Betty blinked, unsure of how to respond.

"Yeah they can be…um, I don't know. A challenge, I guess sometimes. I don't know I would call them gross but"-

"So you work there every night? Like, you work all the time at night? When do you have fun?"

"I don't….no not every night. Usually three or four nights a week? I'm not really a nightlife kind of person."

"I am just beyond rude," the dark haired girl stated before standing. She was legs, as far as Betty could see – legs for days in strappy heeled sandals and a deep purple bathing suit, a black lace Grecian maxi beach cover that ran the length of her. Betty thought of the two piece suit she had left behind at home – it didn't make the cut into the already full suit case – white with small daisies. A child's swim suit compared to this goddess.

"I'm Veronica. Ronnie. It's a pleasure to meet you," she smiled and extended one perfectly manicured hand in Betty's direction as she sauntered her way around the pool. She tilted her large black sunglasses down her nose and to Betty's surprise, the eyes and smile were genuine. She hesitated for only a moment before accepted the gesture in her own hand.

"Betty Cooper. It's nice to meet you,"

"I must apologize, Betty" she continued, "Had we known that you were on the premises the other night, we never would have conducted such shenanigans as we did and woken you. It must have slipped Jughead's mind that you were out here." She looked over her shoulder at Jughead who lay perfectly still, seemingly asleep. Betty internally rolled her eyes at the thought.

"Yes, it must have."

"Well, now that we're acquaintances, we'll have to make a greater effort to know one another." She smiled again, genuine. Betty pursed her lips, reserved at the comment.

"I don't want to be in anyone's way or…be any trouble."

"Trouble? Nonsense, we love trouble," Ronnie laughed. "Over here is my love, Archie Andrews – son of Fred Andrews Realty and Developments?" She looked to Betty as if the name should ring a bell, but Betty just nodded and smiled, unaware of any development companies in LA.

"Over there we have Ms. Josephine – Josie. Josie and her Pussycats – wave girls" she instructed and lazy hands rose in the air in Betty's general direction, "just signed their first record deal, so you'll be hearing them on the radio any minute. And then you'll be able to say you knew them when," she laughed again, tickled at the concept.

"Reggie is over there, stuffing his face per usual," she pointed in the direction of a tall, dark haired boy devouring a sandwich over an open cooler of beers, who waved and smiled as best he could despite the task at hand. "Reggie's dad plays for the Lakers – defense. Of course, you know Jughead," she sighed, skimming over him as she made her rounds.

"Of course," Betty confirmed.

"Well, it's a shame we're going to miss you this evening. After the rest of the afternoon sun, we're going to make Mojito's and order in sushi. You're welcome to join us."

Betty stood, stunned at the thought of joining these people – especially friends of Jughead's – inside this evening for drinks and dinner. Did they not have any idea the feud that was currently waging between the two of them – the very cusp of eviction she stood on should she step a toe out of line when dealing with him?

She smiled tightly but shook her head. "Thank you so much for the invitation, but I should get going. Have a nice evening," she said before making a swift exit through the red door, closing herself inside.

It was cooler in the cave of her home and Betty did not realize how much she was sweating from just the small interaction she had with Ronnie outside. It felt like it had lasted hours, when really it couldn't have been more than a minute. Betty unloaded her bags onto the kitchen table and began to place items in cupboards.

She swiped the shell coasters off the coffee table and deposited them in a drawer of the book case, putting in their place tiny round coasters covered in red roses that she had found in a thrift store that morning. She took the many odd paperbacks from her bag and began to line them up with the others, taking up almost a whole wall of shelves now in stories that helped her to escape her own mind each night. She stood in front of the large picture window, always covered with white shutters in their drawn position and decided it was time. Carefully, she pulled, harder than she realized she would have to, until they lurched open, revealing the swimmers outside. One after another until all five sets were in the open position, letting the afternoon sunshine in. She pulled apples and cherries from her grocery bags, putting them on bowls on the counter so that she could reach them as she grew hungry, instead of hiding each and every item away in cupboards and shelves.

She folded her precious afghan and draped it over the arm of the couch and without hesitating, lit the candle she adored so much so that the room filled with the sweet scent of peppermint. She gazed around at the little difference the sunlight, the fruit made to her space. Her space. Not Jughead's. She had a right to be here, she smiled, and she was going to make it her own. Finally.

She showered and changed quickly, her awareness heightened that she would have to be extra careful walking around with open shades now as she was so often used to walking around in just her under scrub tank tops and underwear. She dried her hair and pulled it into a curled pony tail, high on the crown of her head. Grabbing her wallet, her phone and her key she headed back out to the delight of her audience, still lounging by the pool consuming drinks and laughter.

She mounted her bike once more when Archie called out to her. "Hey, we could give you a ride you know."

"Oh, thank you. No, I like the bike."

"You like…riding a bike," Josie stated, more of a comment than a question. A comment laced with an inability to understand how anyone would prefer a bike than a chauffeured vehicle down the hill to the awaiting city below.

"I do. It's nice out," she smiled. Before placing one foot on the pedal she noticed Jughead was no longer feigning a nap, but sitting upright a little more, watching her through slitted eyes as he avoided the sunshine on his face. She looked away quickly, hoping he didn't notice her gaze on him.

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He noticed her gazing at him, her look worried as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. She had averted her eyes almost as quickly as it fell on him and busied herself with her bike. A bike. That was not expected. He didn't know anyone in LA who rode a bike. He honestly had no idea how to even get anywhere on a bike within the city. The hospital wasn't far away, but he assumed that the ride home was way worse than the ride down.

That was another thing. The scrubs. He hadn't known that she worked with elder care patients as a nurse. He realized, a little embarrassed, he didn't stop to consider what she did at all. It twanged on his heart a little bit – the shame and acknowledgment that while he lay next to the pool, drinking cocktails and wasting away his days, he was fighting to fervently to evict someone who actually contributed to society – who worked hard and saved her money to be able to live here in this space.

It irritated him. Her perfection – the way she smiled sweetly at his friends who already liked her and didn't even know her. The way she talked, quickly, educated, when he was so used to being the one on top to slam those down not quite as witty as himself in an argument. The way she looked in a ponytail and short shorts. She was ridiculous. She was a Midwestern farmer's dream wife. She was smart and hard working and awful. He couldn't figure out, deep in his stomach, why the very look of her made him so angry. Why he wanted her gone so much. She was the girl next door, quite literally. He watched her carefully as she pedaled up and out the driveway, turning back to see five sets of eyes on him.

"Yes. I can see the problem," Ronnie said slowly nodding her head.

"What problem?" Jughead asked, trying to remain disinterested.

"Your problem, Juggy."

"I have no problem except that I'm getting burnt if we stay out here another minute longer. Isn't three hours by a pool enough for everyone?"

"Jughead, you have probably the most adorable leggy blonde living in your pool house, not five hundred feet from your bedroom, and you're sulking. What a terrible inconvenience."

"We're all going to get melanoma," he said, sitting up and grabbing his towel.

"Why are you not busting down her door to take her out?" Ronnie pushed.

"She is kind of cute, Jug," Archie agreed and he eyed Ronnie suspiciously as to not step out of his bounds with his comment. She didn't seem to notice if he did.

"I'm not on the market for cute. I'm looking for straight goth vampire. Someone with Daddy issues. Moonlights at a morgue, that kind of thing," he brushed them off.

"Well, she's not far from the morgue. All of her patients are almost dead," Josie shuddered and Jughead shot her a condescending look.

"Don't you have a grandma, Josie?"

"No. Ew," she replied inspecting her nails closely.

"It's decided. We're befriending her. She looks like she needs friends…and a wardrobe, but all of that will come in due time," Ronnie continued.

"What about having a grandma is gross?" Jughead asked, ignoring her completely.

"They give wet kisses whenever you see them and their hands are horrifying. They smell bad. No, thank you but just – no. On the grandma's. No," Josie answered, nonplussed.

"We're not friending her," Jughead continued, directing his attention back to Veronica. "She doesn't need friends. We don't need any more friends. She just likes to be left alone."

"No one likes to be that alone," Ronnie argued, approaching the tiny house. "Look at this place. It's adorable but pathetic. I mean how many books can one girl read?" She was leaning almost completely against the window now, shading the area around her eyes from the sun.

"Ronnie, let it go," Jughead said, his tone borderline on warning. Veronica assessed him for a full two seconds before putting her hands on her hips.

"Jughead, do whatever the hell you want. But as long as I'm a free human being, and last I checked I was, I'll befriend whoever the hell I want. Sit in your bedroom pouting for all I care. She's adorable. She's friendly. She's obviously terrified of LA. She needs a friend and I plan on being that friend." With that she straightened her cover and flipped her hair, heading back to her chair.

He wanted to come back with something biting for Veronica, something about minding her own business or not being able to buy everyone as a friend, but the skies darkened as he went to open his mouth.

"We should head in guys, looks like that storm is finally heading our way," Archie said as he started to grab for towels. In a matter of minutes, as they scrambled to cover the chairs and pack up their coolers, they were drenched in a downpour. The wind picked up, scattering snack bags and napkins around the pool and into it. Their bags containing dry clothes sat in puddles as they scooped them up, rushing to cover their phones and headsets from the onslaught. It was a true storm, thunder beginning to rumble in the distance. The girls screamed, sure they would melt at the contact, heading towards their cars.

"Hey, I thought we were getting dinner!" Jughead called after them, Josie waving in his direction as if she was irritated with the question.

"Look at my hair! I'm going home!"

Veronica made a beeline for her own vehicle, sheltered under a towel Archie provided for them both. "I have nothing to wear. Everything I own is soaked," she surmised, throwing her belongings into the backseat. Jughead shook his head, enjoying the feel of the warm water running down the back of his neck, drenching into his t-shirt. It was the first relief from the heat he had felt all day, despite having a pool to enjoy. This felt different. Like he was being cleansed and refreshed with the rest of the Earth. He took his time making his way to the front door, his sandaled feet making a squish sound every step of the way.

He let himself in, slipping off his shoes and heading down to his bedroom. He stripped out of the wet clothing, find a fresh pair of sweatpants and black t-shirt. He ran his hands through his wet hair hoping the cool air conditioning would start to dry everything out.

As he headed back to the kitchen he flipped a switch near the sink only to find nothing happened. He tried again, and another switch. Nothing. He opened the fridge to discover no lights inside…not that there was really any food besides a few take out containers. The power was out, probably due to the storm. He sighed. This was going to make charging his phone, using the wifi, watching TV….everything he existed on in this house was suddenly gone.

He became aware of just how large and empty this house really was with no electricity. He leaned against the kitchen sink and looked out into the sky above him, darkening with every minute. He pulled out his wet phone and pulled up the weather app. Increased storm sightings until noon tomorrow. Fantastic. He could only assume, with the growing storm expectancy, that power would be down everywhere with no estimation of coming back as this kind of weather was rare for LA. Californians just didn't know how to handle it.

The pool house caught his eye. Inside, a lone light in the kitchenette shown and he remembered, quite inconveniently, that the pool house had a backup generator to keep the electrical box going so that the pool pump would not give out and flood with water. He had spent a few summers in there as a teenager, hiding from his parents, playing video games on the TV and had slept in there one particularly rough summer when they seemed to lose power every other day. The air even worked in there on that generator. The television. The Xbox, the refrigerator, the phone charger.

Jughead stared for maybe a second longer before heading to the hook of keys his parents kept next to the backdoor. The spare was still there. She worked the nightshift, twelve hours at the hospital. He would just go in there to stay cool until the power came back on- maybe take a nap on the couch and watch some TV. He would be out before she ever knew he went in.

He grabbed an old black hoody from the floor of his bedroom and a knit cap to pull his hair under before making a mad dash across the lawn. He skidded unexpectedly, almost falling around the slick area of the pool and jangled with the lock in the door knob a few seconds too long before finally getting it open. Even in just those few short moments, he was soaked through again and unzipped the hoody, draping it over a kitchen table

It smelled like peppermint gum but also the way it smelled when his housekeeper was doing all the bedding in the laundry. It was tidy, that was for sure. A soft blue knit blanket lay folded on the arm of the couch and as he reached out he was surprised at how soft it was despite being knit. He slipped his shoes off so as not to leave large wet marks everywhere and stepped onto the large corn flower rug. He poked his head into the small kitchen where he could see a canister of tea on the counter and a small jar of honey with a spool for dripping it. A few toast crumbs lay on the counter and a small white dish lay in the sink.

He was curious. So curious. He wanted to go into the bedroom to see where she slept and what it smelled like in there and then shook his head at the crazy thought. "Don't be a fucking weirdo," he scolded himself, craning his neck to see past the cracked door. The white duvet was pulled up tight to the pillows, her white flannel pajamas pants lay folded over the end of the bed. A small lamp gave the room a pink glow. Everything she owned looked soft, like a cloud. It was homier in this space than the entire expensively decorated estate he had just spent the last four days in. His own bedroom didn't feel as comfortable as this.

Jughead leaned back into the couch, finding a soft divot that he fit into the corner and lay back his head. He pulled out the wet t-shirt that stuck to his skin, letting the cool drying air in before he let it go, freezing once it contacted his skin. He sucked in his breath and then peeled it off, laying it across the coffee table to dry. On the edge of the table lay two paperback books with small cut ribbons in them where she was holding her places. He looked at the spines. The Spy Who Came In From the Cold. Not what he would have pegged as a choice for her. The other, The Hobbit. Odd taste, he laughed. Why was she such an anomaly? She was nothing like any other girl he had met – friended. Maybe you couldn't friend girls like this. Too smart, too annoying. Too maddening. He threw the books back down on the coffee table.

He considered turning on the television before the thunder cracked outside, a startling rumble that felt like it was right on top of him. He leaned back again and, thinking about it for a moment, pulled the blanket from the edge of the couch onto his lap, spreading it out. It smelled entirely different – something sweet, like maybe chocolate, but not quite that. He brushed the blanket against his nose and pulled off the cap on his head, throwing it down next to him. He hadn't been this comfortable sleeping in his own large bed. He hadn't been this tired in there either.

He remembered closing his eyes, for just a moment, thinking that the storm would wake him up for sure in an hour or so. He thought about setting the alarm on his phone but was too lazy to, wasn't even sure if it had enough battery. He reasoned with himself that this was technically his house, that she was the guest, that he was really the one who had every right to be here. Maybe not using her blanket, or smelling her smells. Maybe that was pushing it. Maybe not. Maybe…was all he remembered.


	7. Finally, Finally

Lorna was making her go home.

"You have twenty four hours of overtime from last week already and you're on three more shifts this week. We have no patients, Betty. Go home." Betty sighed, not entirely eager to head back to hide out in her cave of a home from her landlord. It was then she remembered the bike waiting for her in the rack behind the hospital, the rain soaked ride home and she groaned.

"Lorna, can't I drop a different shift this week? I'm already here," she motioned but Lorna shook her head. She took the role of shift manager very seriously and she pointed to the white board.

"Look. Two. Two new patients. That's not enough reason to stay, Betty. Go home, put on some pajamas and enjoy your freedom."

"Can't I just see if maybe Anna wants to"-

"Go," Lorna interrupted. Betty felt like stamping her foot. It was terribly inconvenient to be sent home four hours into your shift. At ten pm it would be a ghoulish nightmare biking home, not even considering the downpour waiting for her.

She grabbed her wallet and, reconsidering, grabbed an OR gown from the rack. She rode the elevator down to the main floor, following the signs for shipping and receiving until she was face to face with the sheet of water coming down just before her. She could see it, her pathetic little bike sitting lonely in the rack. She had just made it to work before the storm started and from the patients were saying, it wasn't projected to even start lightening up until tomorrow afternoon. She sighed. Uphill was one thing. Uphill in the rain? This was straight out of one of her father's stories about his pathetic childhood riddled with hard work and no joy.

"I guess it's good that its still warm out," she said to no one listening before she headed out into the downpour. It was so heavy she could feel it penetrate her scalp in seconds, coming between her skin and her clothes in the first minute. She sat on the wet set and her foot slipped on the pedal before she even began to take off. The lakes of water pooled along each curbside, the sewers unable to handle the already torrential amounts pouring into them and each push of her legs felt like burning as she maneuvered onto the sidewalk, her vision blurred.

What normally would take thirty minutes took almost an hour for Betty. She stopped twice, pushing her bike by the handlebars across one major intersection where cars just could not fathom that she had the right of way. Once making it into her subdivision the currents of water streaming downward from the crest of the hill pushed against her. Stray gravel from driveways and entrances caused her to skid and stray twice, resulting in falling to her side, landing hard on her knee. Betty felt so ridiculous, she hadn't fallen off of a bike since she was a kid. Standing, she attempted to brush herself off as the rivulets of water caught up with the blood on her knee, soaking into her scrub bottoms and her white socks below. She had just taken the bandage off of her healing hand the day before. When would the madness stop, she wondered.

Finally approaching her home she heard the crack of thunder overhead, reverberating in her chest, feeling it in her knees and elbows and she quickened her pace to the small cottage where a lone light was her beacon, fighting to make it there with each step. The night sky was darker than she had remembered it being in the past. She all but threw the bike against the wall and went to put her key in the doorknob only to find that it turned easily. Unlocked. Not as she ever left it.

Betty turned the handle fully, quietly, slowly and peeked inside. A pair of sandals lay at her feet that did not belong to her. A mop of black hair was on the couch, covered with her blue blanket. She thought she was crazy, for just a second. This is my house, right? I'm not in a stranger's…no, this is where I live. This is where _I_ live. This is not where Jughead Jones lives.

She could feel the rage bubble in her throat as she slid her sneakers off of her wet feet and still, he made no movement. Her clothes stuck to her skin every inch down to her bleeding knee and she peeled off her socks, not tainted slightly pink on one side as she leaned against the doorframe. Still, nothing. Betty took two tentative, silent steps forward until she could see his face. His sleeping face. The most peaceful she had ever seen him – the first time she had seen him without a scowl, a grimace, a bark to his lip. His eyebrows weren't furrowed, but smooth. His mouth parted slightly, one arm up and over his head. She could hear each deep breath he took within the silence of the room. It was the kind of heavy sleep she was jealous of, that she hadn't had in what felt like years. It was the kind of sleep where you woke up in the exact same position you laid down in, unmoving, unfeeling or hearing. It was a sleep that was dead to the world.

Betty's anger slowly began to reside as she watched the still figure. Part of her wanted to go absolutely nuts. She wanted to throw a dish that didn't belong to her to the ground so that it shattered, jolting him from his rest. She wanted him to feel the slightest shred of inconvenience she had felt these days. How dare he, really, come into her home and sleep ON HER COUCH while she wasn't around? How often did he do this? WHY would he do this?

The other part of her could not help but feel sorry for this man, who when asleep more resembled a boy. A probably lonely boy. A boy who seemed more and more like her than she wanted to acknowledge. That when he was surrounded by friends, he looked like he would rather be by himself. A boy that did not surround himself with family, whether by choice or not she didn't know. A boy who looked tired, exhausted even. She stood across from him, staring at his sleeping form. He took a deep breath in and with it, Betty held her own. She suddenly didn't want to wake him.

Betty walked as quietly as possible toward the bedroom and closed the door. She finished peeling off the soaked scrubs, everything down to her underwear that was wet to the inner linings. She found dry clothing within the few drawers she actually utilized in the dresser – black cotton shorts and a white long sleeved t-shirt that did it's best to take the chill from her skin. She towel dried her hair, leaving it loose around her head. She stood in her bedroom, waiting. Unsure what to do. Should she wake him? Should she yell?

She decided instead to do what she seemed to be doing a lot of these days – what she normally would do. She left the bedroom and headed to the kitchenette. She avoided looking directly at him as she tip toed past though he seemed unfazed, unmoved in his unconsciousness. She filled the tap, sure that the running water sounds and metal on the stove top would stir him. Still, nothing. She opened cupboards, took out her tea bags and mugs…still nothing.

It wasn't until she was back in the sitting area across from her couch that she realized she could probably conduct a full brass band and not wake him. Tentatively, she took a seat on the far end of the couch, avoiding his legs that were spread out before him. She took a long sip, watching him carefully. She suddenly felt insecure, like she was the one doing something wrong which was absurd considering he was in her house. Watching him sleep. Stop being such a weirdo, Betty, she scolded herself. She could lock herself in her bedroom, she mused. Sleep in there until he simply went away. Would he feel stupid for being caught like this? Did he _want_ to be caught to show he just didn't care what she said? Was he pushing the boundaries on purpose?

Betty pulled a small box out from under the coffee table, where she kept bandages and tape now since her most recent incident and assessed her knee as she propped it up. It was just a surface scrape, nothing too terrible, but it stung more than she realized. She dabbed it tentatively with a cotton swab, holding her breath as she did so. Carefully, she pulled apart the paper wrapping on a large bandage. That was what did it.

He sat up startled, suddenly, his eyes wide. It was as if he couldn't focus at first, as if Betty sitting across from him was the last thing he expected to see…in Betty's house of all things. He turned to the left and right, putting his hand to his chest.

"Uh. What time is it?"

"About eleven," Betty answered, her voice barely above a whisper. She had no idea how to approach this, what to say. Jughead seemed to be in the same boat, his mouth agape as he sat perfectly still.

"The house…lost power," he mumbled and suddenly it clicked for Betty. Of course. "The pool house is on a generator…I didn't have any lights or TV or anything. I didn't mean to stay long. I thought I would be out before you got home."

"That…doesn't exactly…make it ok…" she dared to begin. To her surprise, Jughead nodded his head.

"Yeah, no I get that. I would be pretty pissed if someone was in my house when I wasn't around. I didn't think you would see me. I know…that like, doesn't make it ok or whatever. I just—sorry."

Betty nodded her head for a moment and then turned her attention back to her knee. She opened a small tube of ointment and applied a thin layer. Jughead sat up fully, bringing his feet to the ground.

"What did you….uh, what happened to your knee?" he asked, seeming uninterested.

"I fell off my bike on the way home."

"You _biked_ in this?" he asked incredulously, the low rumble of thunder outside, the steady pouring of rain hard against the roof. Betty nodded.

"Why didn't you just take an Uber or something?"

"Who's Uber?" Jughead stared for a second.

"I don't know how to answer that."

"It's fine, I made it home."

"You shouldn't have tried to kill yourself doing it."

"I didn't, I'm fine," she mumbled again. He stood, knowing full well this argument was going to get him nowhere.

"Well, whatever. I'm sorry again. It won't happen – again, I promise. I just, it's miserable out. I thought I would have a few hours without bothering you." Betty looked up from her knee as she placed the bandage across the scrape slowly, securing it in place.

"You're not," she answered. Jughead stopped short of the door.

"Not what?"

"You're not…bothering me," she said quietly again. She took her mug into her hands and pulled another long sip, breathing in the sweet aroma, letting the steam hit her face. "I mean, it's weird. And illegal. And like a huge invasion of privacy-"

"I said I was sorry."

"Yeah, a lot of good sorry has done me in the past," she quipped quickly. He sighed, recognizing her argument.

"That's fair," he finally said. She set her mug down.

"Power still out in the house?" she asked. Jughead looked over his shoulder to the large estate, black as the night looming in the distance.

"Looks like it."

"Then sit. Stay. If you want. Leave if you want, it's up to you." Jughead stared at her, her legs like moonlight against the coffee table, her tousled blonde hair curling at the ends. He considered the cottage with the warm blanket, the smell of peppermint. The company alone was something to consider, let alone the dark quiet. Nothing was waiting for him. It felt familiar, like it was happening more often than he wanted these days.

"That would be ok?" he asked, unsure of himself. Betty nodded again slowly.

"Yeah. That would be ok."

He stood for a few more moments, disbelieving, and then reached for his t-shirt, now drying on the kitchen table.

"I guess this would be less weird if I wasn't half naked," he stated. Betty smiled for the first time all night.

"It's still pretty weird."

"Yeah, it's weird."

She sat in silence, staring at her own feet, her legs in front of her while he sat slowly where he once was on the couch. The quiet was almost deafening.

"Do you want something to drink?" she finally asked. He shook his head.

"I'm ok, thanks."

"Do you know how to work the television?"

"You don't?"

"I've never really figured this remote out," she motioned towards the electronic sitting untouched in so many months before her. He reached out and pressed the buttons, making the blue screen come to life.

"This is as far as I get."

"What have you been watching for the last three months?"

"I haven't. I just, read or…sleep or something."

He looked at her carefully, searching her face for any trace of a lie. She was telling the truth. She really did just sit in here by herself most days, reading or sleeping. She was so weird.

"Have you made any friends since you…moved here?" he asked. She shook her head, but didn't respond.

"You from the area or…?"

"Look it works," she stated instead as the screen came to life after Jughead's furious button pushing.

"Yeah you had to connect to the satellite. Now you can get anything you want."

"I don't really want to watch anything. I'm just surprised it works."

"You want me to show you how?" he offered. She shook her head again.

"No thank you. I don't really watch anything anyway." With that she finally sat back and pulled the blanket he once possessed over her own lap, taking a tattered paperback with her.

"Did you want to get some sleep? I can read in my room," she started but he shook his head adamantly.

"No it's your space. I'm fine."

It was uneasy silence for several minutes, bot heightened in their awareness of one another. She could feel every turn of his head, every sigh he emitted as he leaned back on the couch, his head against the cushions, surfing through the channels. She dug her face into her book as far as she could, the blanket her only security to hide behind. She kept her head down, her face engrossed. She read the same page four times. She couldn't retain a thing. She couldn't remember anything, concentrate on anything except that she thought she smelled something cedar against the soft knit cotton in her lap. It was unfamiliar. It wasn't terrible.

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She wasn't terrible. She was weird, sure, and quieter than he would like. Not that he had much to say either, but he had hoped she would fill the silence somehow. Instead, she sat stone still, her pages unturning as she focused all of her energy into her book. There was nothing on TV at almost midnight, he knew this no matter how much he flipped through channels. He hesitated and then held the remote out, turning it off and setting it beside him.

"What are you reading?" he asked. She looked up, surprised.

"The Hobbit," she murmured.

"Do you like it?"

"Have you ever read it?"

"I think maybe in the ninth grade? I can't remember," he said, leaning back further into the couch.

"It's clever. It's an easy read. I don't mind it."

He considered what he wanted to do for a few long seconds and then, reached out his hand. He held it in the air between them, her staring at it unsure of what he was asking. Slowly, tentatively, she placed the tattered book in his fingertips. He took it, thumbing it open to the page she was once holding. He cleared his throat.

"In the meanwhile, the dwarves sat in darkness and utter silence sat about them. Little they ate and little they spoke," he murmured aloud. He looked at her, her eyes wide as she listened to his narration. He continued. "They could not count the passing of time and they scarcely dared to move for the whisper of their voices echoed and rustled in the tunnel."

Betty could feel her elbows relax beneath her as his voice went on, smooth and low. She lay her own head back, mimicking his relaxed state as he went on. She could picture them huddled together in this tunnel, afraid to be found out – afraid to make too much noise, too much movement. The blanket was warm in her lap, her breathing slowed to a steady gate.

"If they dozed, they woke still to darkness and to silence going unbroken," Jughead read on. He let his eyes flutter up once to see her, pink cheeked and still. Her eyes were bright but calm as she lay back, listening intently. He felt his chest give. He felt his fingertips relax.

He held the book easy in his hands, and read on, on without stopping for one chapter and then two until the steady sound of her breath gave her away and she was finally, finally…asleep. He reached up with his arm and hit the switch of the only light in the room so that they were cloaked in darkness and closed his own eyes.

Outside the rain poured on, the thunder shuddering their quiet cave. He could feel the steady stream of rain against the roof, the smattering of pouring water as it hit the uncovered pool. His mind was completely at peace for the first time since he had arrived home. He looked in her direction one more time, the blanket pulled to her chin, her lips parted slightly in the darkness as cool breaths escaped in a slow rhythm. He leaned to the left so that his head fell where her feet came up on the sectional and bunched the pillow next to them, propping his head into place. The last thing he saw was her rosebud toes, her long legs covered with the warmth of her covers, her fingertips clutching it close to her chest.

And he finally, finally, fell asleep too.


	8. Friendship and a whole new life

Jughead woke first, his eyes adjusting to the light coming into the room. Though the overcast was still heavy and gray, at some point in the night the rain had stopped and the thunder quieted its anger. He blinked, face to face with feet. Pink, unmoving feet with no toe polish. They were small.

He sat up slowly. Betty was still next to him on the couch, though her position had become more relaxed. She was stretched out now on her side, her hands still cupped beneath her chin. She breathed in and out slowly, quietly. He unlodged the paperback from beneath his elbow, his arm also asleep and tingling from the position he had been in for so long.

He checked his phone screen. Dead, he had forgotten to charge it – the reason, he had convinced himself, that he needed to be out in the pool house in the first place. All the necessary electricity. He half smiled at the thought. He had spent the night in the dark, reading with nothing on television and no need for the internet anyway. If she thought about it at all, which he hoped she didn't, she would see right through his excuse. It wasn't what he planned, he reasoned with himself, it's just what ended up happening. He hadn't known that the tired he had been carrying around with him since he boarded the jet in London would find him, finally here in this space with the person he last expected. He also didn't anticipate that the anger he carried for her, the pure irritation and madness she drove into him would diminish when he saw her sleep, peacefully.

He could see over his shoulder that the large house sat looming, dark still in the distance across the yard. The pool was to the brim, its flooded contents spilling onto the stamped patio that surrounded it. Two chairs were turned on their sides, their covers discarded somewhere in the great expanse of the yard. He didn't care. He could tend to it all eventually later. The thought of heading back into that powerless house with no lights and nothing to do didn't exactly tempt him either.

He thought about laying his head down and going back to sleep when Betty stirred. Her heavy lashes fluttered revealing her blue eyes beneath. She seemed to be looking through him for the seconds it took her to register that she was awake and that he was still here.

"Hi," she finally said. She sat up slowly.

"Hey."

"We fell asleep."

"Yep." He was at a loss for words. He suddenly couldn't think of a single clever remark, quip, anything.

"Did you sleep ok?" she asked, her brows furrowed. She placed her feet on the ground, swinging herself forward slowly.

"Yeah, I was out." More silence followed. Jughead couldn't figure out how quickly he could leave or escape. This obviously was going to be harder than he had anticipated.

"Did you…uh sleep ok?" he finally asked. That was the polite thing to do. Betty nodded.

"You were reading," she finally muttered, almost a question as she looked to him.

"Yep."

"I don't think I've been read to since I was little," she mused. Jughead's lip naturally quirked to the side at the thought.

"I don't think I have either."

Betty stood and Jughead was surprised to see her bare legs again, despite knowing she slept in the shorts she came out in last night. She seemed exposed almost in the morning light. He tried to look away quickly but it was too late, she caught his eye as they ran up her thighs.

"Uh, what time is it?" he finally asked, looking down at his hands.

"I think about six?" Betty asked as she walked to the kitchenette. She pulled opened two cupboards and pulled down her mugs. Jughead let out a long slow breath. Six am. He hadn't seen six am in…he couldn't remember how long.

"Are you usually up this early?"

"I'm a little bit off my schedule right now. I work again tonight so I'll probably try and sleep this afternoon for a few hours just to get back on track," she called. She scooped two heaping spoonfuls of instant coffee into the mugs and with the kettle, topped them both off so that the steaming water billowed into her face. She opened her fridge and held up a small pint of Half and Half. Jughead nodded his head.

"Do you work?" she asked, bringing the cups into the living room and setting them on the coffee table. "I mean, I'm sure you work. What do you do?" she corrected herself quickly. Jughead reached out claiming one of the mugs for himself.

"No you're not far off. I don't have, like, a conventional job right now," he tried to answer, mildly ashamed as the words came out. "I've been taking pictures freelance a little."

"Anything I might have seen?" she asked, taking a sip.

"Probably not. I haven't really shown my work to people much."

"You take pictures so that no one can look at them?" she asked with a small smile.

"Well. When you say it like that…" he laughed. He felt the smile tug at his lips and was surprised how weird it felt. Why was he smiling with her? Why when just yesterday she drove him insane, making him want to rip every hair out of his head. Here, now, she wasn't anything to be worked up about. She was sipping her coffee, her cheeks rosy with the heat of the steam.

"Hey, um. I'm sorry. About…the house stuff," he coughed.

"The house stuff?" she asked.

"Yeah like, everything."

"Like the part where you tried to evict me? Or the breaking and entering part?"

"What was the part where you called me Assface?" he asked. She laughed and caught herself, covering her mouth.

"I think that was the eviction."

"Yeah that part," he nodded with a smile.

"Well, I guess," she began, "I'm sorry too. You know," she said, looking him in the eye, "I don't know who your dad is. I didn't know this was your dad's house. It was just…my house. That's all," she shrugged.

"Yeah I get that now."

"What convinced you?" she asked, curiously.

"You ride a bike?" he began. "You uh, you don't even own a radio in here or CD's or headphones or….like anything that indicates you've even heard of music," he laughed. He gazed around the room and Betty followed his gaze. "My dad's a double platinum artist touring Europe with U2 and you're here sitting in the dark reading The Hobbit." He shrugged again, "Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with any of that. You're just...not an FP Jones fan, that's all."

"I'm amazed that the bike is a constant source of confusion for people," she contemplated.

"It's LA. It's weird."

"It's just transportation."

"…In a neighborhood where everyone gets driven around in a Range Rover. It's weird."

"I like it," she stated firmly.

"Yeah, I do too," he said. He hadn't meant to say it, didn't even know why he did. He had hoped it was low enough that she hadn't notice but her eyes flitted up to his face, registering she had.

They sat that way, her watching him for just a second longer. He could feel the weight of the quiet in the room again. He took a large gulp of his coffee and set it back down.

"I'm going to head back to the house. Shower and change and stuff."

"You can shower with no power?" she asked.

"No I just can't think of another excuse to leave. I've invaded your home too long already," he said and stood to his feet.

"Well, thank you for the company."

"Thanks for letting me crash." She nodded as he let himself out the front door, closing it softly behind him.

She was amazed at how empty the house felt now without him in it. She looked to the couch, the space where his body has left an imprint and the mug that was almost empty. She watched as he sauntered slowly back up to the house, his lanky body fluid in its movement. She wished she could have said more, done more. It was as if her mouth ran dry when he was here. She was so overwhelmed by what she felt sitting next to him. The irritation and anger, it was subsiding much to her surprise. In its place this sympathy…or sadness she couldn't quite pinpoint. Why did she feel bad for him? Why did she want to reach out and touch his hair so badly? What was that, she asked herself. She had to stop herself from doing it this morning as she walked past to get the coffee as it fell in his face. She hadn't wanted to touch anyone in so long…since…

Betty shook her head and headed to the shower, which was welcome and warm. It made her wonder if Jughead was inside, taking a cold shower in that empty and dark house when she had to remind herself to stop, stop, stop worrying about him in the shower. Him in the shower was none of her business. Just like the way he looked when he slept was none of her business. What he did all day inside by himself. Who he talked to. What kind of photographs he took. He was a blank page that didn't fit in with his own group of friends and it drove her to a curiosity she hadn't felt before.

From the looks of it outside, the storm had brought with it a cold front and the first drop in temperature lower than 75 she had seen since she arrived in LA. It was enough to make her put on a pair of jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt. She had just finished pulling her blonde hair into a low pony tail at the base of her neck when there was a knock at the door.

She had to slow her own pace as she approached, not wanting to appear too eager, knowing and anticipating it was him when, to her surprise, Veronica was waiting on her stoop with two steaming coffee cups in hand.

"You looked like a Cinnamon Latte type of girl," she stated as she extended her hand. Betty took it hesitantly, unsure.

"I would have called you, but I realized that we weren't there yet in our budding friendship," Veronica smiled, walking past Betty and letting herself into the room. She assessed the space around her, a black handbag hanging prominently from the crook of her elbow. She was dressed to the nine's at eight am, her hair a perfect sheen of shiny curls, her eyebrows such angled fierceness that she appeared to almost be asking a question with them even when she wasn't speaking. She wore black skinny ponte pants and a merlot colored blouse, loosely buttoned. Betty wondered if this was how she always dressed when she left the house to get coffee. She looked down at her own jeans and light blue shirt and suddenly felt inadequate.

"I know it's early but I just had a feeling that you and I were both early birds," Veronica continued, "and we have so much to do I just thought – I'm going to get Betty now. It's time to begin."

"Begin?" Betty asked slowly, taking a sip of her coffee. It was delicious, creamy like velvet.

"Our best friendship," Veronica exclaimed with a smile, "obviously. We have twenty years of learning to do about one another and there's no time like the present." Betty stared at her blankly, unsure of where to even begin. Veronica did not seem to register her uneasiness in the slightest.

"First, we can talk about this pool house because, Hello Pier One Imports, this place is awful. It looks like someone went to Myrtle Beach and then just dropped everything they found in the bottom of their beach bag in here, am I right?" Betty smiled and nodded her head as she looked around.

"There's no power anywhere on the hill from what I can see so I thought I'd have Gene drive us out to The Grove and do a little shopping?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows with excitement. "You look like pink on the exterior but I can tell," she smiled nosing towards Betty slowly with one pointed finger extended, "that deep down inside you detest the color. You need something bold in here," she waved to the room around them.

"Oh that's…ok, it's not really my space to be changing or decorating or…"

"Nonsense, not your space. This is totally your space now. It's time it looked like you. Oh and then of course I was thinking after a little lunch we could get a blow out or…I mean, whatever you enjoy. Let's get to know the real Betty, because trust me girl, you are gonna love the shit out of the real Veronica." Her smile was fierce but genuine as she took Betty's open hand in her own, pulling her to the door.

"Oh my wallet and my phone.." Betty motioned but Veronica waved her hand in dismissal.

"Leave the wallet. This is going in my portfolio so it's on me," she said. Betty snatched her phone quickly as well as her key before being pulled up and out the little red door and across the yard to the awaiting black sedan in the driveway.

"Your portfolio…?" she asked.

"Yeah, you know, I'm thinking that interior decorating is my calling. That or fashion design… but I'm also toying with the idea of Life Coach so...testing the waters a little bit."

"The career waters?" Betty asked, trying to understand what Ronnie was even talking about.

"Yes. Oh, or boating!" she smiled with eyes wide as she opened the car door, ushering Betty inside.

"I really can't let you pay for redecorating a house that's not even mine"-

"Girl, let's not even get into those boring details. In," she commanded and Betty slid through the open door onto the awaiting black leather seats. She jostled the coffee cup in her hand as Veronica slid in next to her pulling the door shut behind her. Past her head, through the awaiting back door window Betty could just make out Jughead standing at the kitchen sink, looking out into the driveway at her and Veronica's departure, confusion written all over his face. You're not the only one, Betty thought to herself, but didn't have time to say aloud as the car was already in gear and she was being driven away.

"What's The Grove?" she finally thought to ask before Veronica turned to look at her blankly.

"You're precious. We're going to get along so well," she smiled without answering her. Betty's eyebrows quirked in confusion.

"I have to be back by noon," Betty began. "I work tonight so I should probably get a little sleep."

"This job of yours is incredibly demanding. Do you work every single night? When do you go out and have a life?" Veronica mused.

"I like to work."

"Betty, I don't know if you've been informed, but nobody _likes_ to work dear. You just don't realize you like other things better." Veronica flashed another million dollar smile in Betty's direction. "Either way, pumpkin, we'll have you back before the bell strikes midnight. Er, noon. Whatever."

Betty took another slow sip of her coffee, assessing the girl next to her. She had a perfect crimson lip that left a slight stain on the white lid of her coffee with each small sip she took, her perfectly oval nails shiny with lacquer. She wore a delicate pearl necklace near the hollow of her throat, something Betty hadn't seen a girl her age ever wear…not that she would know what fashionable jewelry was in these days. She put her own hand to her throat where a single gold chain hung, hiding behind the neck of her shirt, close to her heart.

"So, Betty. Tell me. What brings you to California? These jeans and this hair tell me you are not exactly from the west coast."

Betty touched her low pony tail and looked down at her shirt. "Um, just a change of scenery I guess. Wanted to get out on my own."

"And the great state of California called you?" Veronica asked. Betty nodded slowly, her eyes drawn down.

"I feel like perhaps that's a grandiose lie," Veronica began. Betty looked up, ready to protest, but Ronnie held up a single manicured finger stopping her. "California is for sunshine lovers and Hollywood fans. California is where you go when you want to spend every weekend on the beach or hoping to run into Tom Cruise at the hottest restaurants and nightclubs. You don't exactly seem like that type, hiding in a stranger's pool house where you only come out to work." She said work like it was a bad word again, confident in her assessment.

"No, you're not here for the true joys of California," she mused, "But don't worry. I won't push that. Yet. We can talk about me first." She put the same hand to her chest in a coy gesture that Betty was sure false and began.

Betty tried to concentrate as Veronica talked on and on about herself, her father's rise to billionaire-dome, the privileged life in six out of seven continents she had lead so far. She gushed with a smile about her newest conquer in love, Archie, whom Betty recalled meeting the other day.

"Honestly, with the hair and the good old boy looks he's truly not my type. However, something about him is just so…"she drifted off. Betty tried to keep her concentration on Veronica's bubbling. It was difficult though as she stirred back on the words that Veronica had said. That she wasn't in California for the sunshine. That she wasn't here for the change of scenery. It worried her and she pulled her lip between her teeth as she got lost in the thoughts. Had her attempts at laying low, at remaining off the radar really been the very thing to attract the attention to her? All this time, as she thought she had been going unnoticed. It only took one girl and a cup of coffee to peel back the very cloak of invisibility she had been wearing.

The car pulled up to the curb of a large shopping complex and Veronica motioned to get out of the car.

"You're going to love this," Veronica stated, while Betty held her doubts, staring out into the grey sky and the people swarming up the walk of a beacon of electricity waiting before them.

"First, bedding. Then, everything else. The bedding is what defines the room, obviously," Veronica said. She stepped out of the car and turned back to see Betty still hesitantly waiting inside.

"Come on, my dear. Friendship and a whole new life await," she called.

Betty sighed, smiled, and followed.


	9. Forsythe Jones

**The comments and follows have been SO SO kind and I can't thank you enough for your sweet words of encouragement. I guess all I can say is that good things come to those who wait and no great love story ever began with both characters jumping in head first right from the start. Thank you for sticking it out, having patience and waiting to see how they evolve together. It will be worth it (I hope) in the end!

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"Now, this", Veronica sang, standing in Betty's bedroom, "is more you. Don't you think?" Betty did not even want to begin to explain to this girl how they had only spent four hours together, she couldn't possibly begin to know who _she_ was. However, looking around the room, it was almost scary how spot on beautiful Veronica had made the space – and how much Betty adored it already.

Gone was the white bedspread and the plain white walls and in its place was a large Gustav Klimt print of _Beech Forrest_. Betty had seen it once in a library book and remembered wanting to get lost in the forest of those sleepy trees despite the brightly golden colored ground.

Veronica had the old black headboard traded out for a hand carved wooden one in the shape of lotus flowers and in a cloud of blankets and pillows lay a textured duvet, so light in its gold color that Betty could barely tell it was there. She wanted to lay on it immediately, to run her fingers over the ripples and through the cords and braids of the throw pillows, but hesitated. All in good time.

A brass tea set lay next to the bed on a night stand that Veronica insisted Betty use for her jewelry, only to find that Betty was right, she had no jewelry to place in all the cups and plates, to hang over the handles as Ronnie had envisioned. The lamp shade had been covered with a rose patterned silk throw, bringing the room a peach glow and on the floor lay an off white thick lattice patterned rug that covered almost the entirety of the floor. It was the coziest room Betty had ever been in. She had no idea that she loved these items in the store as Veronica instructed one after another to be taken to the front for purchase. Betty had to wonder if perhaps she was just as good at this potential career as she was at boating…

"Veronica, it's amazing…"Betty began but she simply waved her off again, moving to the next room where two large men were positioning the new coffee table in place.

"You can place the old one outside boys and I'll have it taken care of," she instructed and, much to Betty's horror, she found Jughead standing in the doorway behind them, taking in the scene, his arms crossed. She stopped short, unsure how to begin to explain how she had been railroaded so completely by this girl and her decorating when Veronica interrupted before she could even start.

"Before you even start to get all Stanley Kowalski on her, she didn't do any of this. I did." Veronica seemed proud of herself, placing a hand to her chest as she claimed responsibility. Jughead moved out of the doorway long enough for the men to bring in a large wooden chest brimming with chenille throws of different colors and sizes.

"Those go at the end of the couch," Ronnie pointed. Betty stood, staring at Jughead, waiting for a reaction.

"I didn't doubt this was all your doing," he simply said to her, seeming nonplussed. Betty let out a low, silent sigh of relief. She had just gotten on common ground with him, the last thing she wanted was to begin the war of the pool house all over again.

"Well, she could only live like a pirate for so long," Veronica mused, watching as the boxes of items were slowly shuffled out of the space. "Where would you like all of this seafaring garb to go, anyway?" she asked and Betty stifled a laugh. She did suppose that the captain's large steering wheel of a ship was an odd piece of décor to have in the bathroom, though she had never paid it much attention before.

"They can take everything to storage in the basement, I'll see what my mom wants to do with it," he said as he stepped forward. He ran his hands over a large throw pillow on the couch embroidered with the words "Coffee Sleep Repeat" and looked to Betty as Veronica stomped after the workers to give direction.

"How do you like all of this?" he asked and Betty shrugged.

"It was overwhelming. And fast. I found pretty quickly though that arguing doesn't get you very far."

Jughead laughed and nodded his head. "Yeah, it's much better not to poke the bear. She's just going to do what she wants anyway. She never means any harm though."

"I didn't mean to displace all of your family's items. The furniture and everything was all very nice."

"Yeah, no it wasn't. Don't worry about it. You rent the space. You should make it look like you."

Betty assessed him for a second, standing across from her. Not a week ago he had been the same disgruntled man she stood on the porch of who growled at her and looked through her when he talked, trying every legal way possible to have her physically removed from the premises. Now he looked almost unsure of himself, standing there in a dark green sweater that hugged his lanky frame, a knit cap on his head covering the tousle of dark hair.

"I think it looks good in here," he finally said and she nodded her head. Why did she find it so impossible to generate the words to speak to him? Why did she clam up so suddenly when he was around?

"Betty – I have to go. Some Neanderthal hacked my Instagram account and they keep posting pictures of their own butt with captions like 'Lodge This' which, frankly, is not even that clever," Veronica sighed as she breezed back into the room. She approached Betty, kissing her once on each cheek while Betty tried to comprehend what that would even look like on a social media account.

"I wish you weren't working tonight. I'm thinking skin tight dresses and red lips for dancing," she tried to tempt her. Betty smiled sheepishly at the thought.

"Even if I were to go out dancing, that's not exactly my uniform," she tried to laugh. She caught Jughead's eye who was watching her closely during this interaction, a peculiar look on his face. Veronica shrugged and breezed past them both towards the door, her phone firmly clutched in her hand.

"You'll be joining us tonight, Juggy?" she called. Jughead waved his hand in acknowledgment.

"Yeah see you."

It was once again just the two of them, standing there quietly as the last two movers closed the door behind them. Betty swayed, her hands in her pockets, looking around the room at the new silver lamps that adorned the end tables, designed to look like climbing ivys with flowers more than posts under their light gray shades. The number of blankets that scattered the room were too many to count and the bookshelves that were once half bare except for her growing collection of books now held small gold clocks and book ends. There were candles on every table end and in the kitchen she could see that the last of the white dishes with the golden rims that Veronica had so carefully selected were on the edge of the sink, waiting to be rinsed off and put away. Another Gustav Klimt hung behind her on the wall, _The Kiss_ and the intimacy of it almost made her blush, she had to look away.

She cleared her throat. "So, dancing huh?" she asked.

"Oh yeah. I'm an extremely good dancer," Jughead nodded.

"Really?"

"No, uh. Dancing in public makes me want to kill myself."

"Why do you go?" Betty asked with a laugh and he shrugged.

"Comradery. Drinks. People watching. Mostly the people watching I guess."

"I get the impression that Veronica chooses the activities for her and her boyfriend and…the boyfriend is your friend?"

"Yeah, Archie has been my best friend since we were kids. They're kind of a package deal now. I don't mind though, she's nice enough. Gets me out of my comfort zone at least."

"I can see how she would be good at that."

"I should let you get some sleep," he started toward the door.

"You know," she began and a slight color rose to her cheeks, "I was thinking that it might not be a terrible idea to learn how to work the television after all?"

He stopped and turned to look at her. "I could show you how to do that," he said. She sat on the couch and handed him the complex remote control, facing forward.

"You have to set up the satellite which I think I did last night…so just push the power and then the input…" he began and he sat next to her. His knee touched hers and he pulled back quickly so as not to invade her space. She kept her head forward, focusing like a laser on the blue screened television.

"Input Sat?" she asked as he clicked through the buttons.

"Yeah, so once you have the input you have to change the remote so that you're directing the satellite and not the television so you hit this channel button…" he pressed several keys and Betty's face immediately fell, watching as he worked.

"Then menu so you can pull up the guide…" the screen flickered before her.

"And before you know it, you're watching The Goonies." He handed the remote back to her as she looked up, concerned.

"I like books better anyway," she finally said and he laughed.

"You'll get it, it just takes practice."

"I'll probably just come get you whenever I want to watch it," she said.

"That works too," he responded. Betty looked up at him to see he was watching her, his face unreadable. She nodded, bringing her chin to her chest and focusing back on the television.

"You like The Goonies?" she asked, sitting back.

"Uh, I think everyone on this planet loves The Goonies," he answered, sitting back as well. He slid off his sandals, resting his barefeet against the new coffee table. Betty reached down and pulled up two gray chenille blankets from the basket underneath, handing one to him. "We're talking about social outcasts saving an entire town from poverty with pirate treasure. I think it's every eleven year old boys dream to find pirate treasure."

"The nicknames were always a little odd to me. Demeaning. Mouth, Chunk, Data."

"Jughead?" he smiled.

"I didn't want to ask…" she began, seemingly embarrassed.

"My dad's name is Forsythe. My name is Forsythe the third. It's a big name for a little kid," he answered.

"But Jughead…?"

"Before my dad was a recording artist, he invested in this water bottling plant called PureJug and it turned out to be a huge scam. He kind of became a laughing stock in our family for a few years because we lost everything. My grandfather called him Jughead for a while…and then when I came along, I just kind of got it too. Little Jughead or whatever."

Betty's face dropped, "That's awful," she whispered. Jughead didn't seem phased by it.

"My dad got a record deal about three years after that and the joke was on them. I think that's why he let me keep the nickname. He used to say 'Who's laughing now, Little Jug?' with every check he took to the bank. And I hated Forsythe so…I kept it."

"Kind of a nice rags to riches story," she said.

"It's not really my story."

"What is your story?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he smiled and Betty blushed again. She was embarrassed to have asked so quickly, she wasn't even sure what she was hoping to find out.

Jughead didn't seem to mind though. He stood and headed to the window, pulling the wooden shutters closed so as to shut out what little sun the grey skies were permitting. He sat on the couch again next to her and instead of hovering to the corner as he did the night before, he leaned to the left in her direction so his head fell near her feet tucked up against her. He grabbed one of the many pillows from the end of the couch and laid them on her feet, directing his attention to the television. Betty swallowed, trying to keep her eyes straight ahead. This was a thing now. Apparently this was what they were doing. Watching television, falling asleep, blocking out the world…together. It was an odd friendship. She wasn't sure if she was really ready for a friend.

Jughead looked up at her through his mussed hair. "Sorry, you want me to leave so you can sleep?" he asked. She considered the question and shook her head slowly, looking down at him.

"No, I don't think I've ever finished the movie," she said turning back to the television.

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Betty awoke to the vibration of her phone as she peered through heavy eyes. 4:30pm. She groaned inwardly, not really understanding why she was this tired. She was warm, almost heavy with warmth and she looked down the length of her body. She was on the couch, as she remembered laying, but her legs were stretched out now and Jughead's moppy black head of hair was resting against her hip, the pillow he once had discarded to the floor. His hand rested gently against her knee as he lay on the length of her legs, his breathing heavy once again with sleep. Betty lay for a second, unsure of what to do, and then suddenly overwhelmed with the weight, sat up, ripping her legs out from under her and him and placing them firmly on the ground. Jughead woke with a start.

"Sorry, I must have-"

"It's fine. You should go," Betty said quickly as she stood. Jughead looked to her slowly, his face blank with confusion.

"Yeah, I can go."

"You should. Thanks for everything, but I have to get ready for work," she said, hurriedly busying herself with folding the stray blankets and clearing the coffee table. Jughead paused for a moment.

"Betty, I'm sorry….I didn't realize…"

"There's nothing to be sorry about. Or realize. Everything is fine. I just have to go to work, that's all."

"You're kind of acting like I bit you. We fell asleep, that's all."

"I know that. I'm fine," she mumbled, still busying her eyes and her hands.

"Look, the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable so if I did something, or if you feel like"-

"I feel nothing!" Betty barked, looking to him, her hands out at her sides. Her eyes were wide, her mouth tight. "It's nothing, it's fine. Just….you can go. I have to leave soon. You should go." She tore her eyes away from his long enough to glance at the door and then, with a quick turn she headed to the bathroom and he heard the resounding click of it locking behind her.

He sat, unsure of himself on the couch a moment longer. He wished he could piece it together quickly enough, but it happened so fast. He was there, sleeping on a pillow just hours before and then the weight of his eyes grew as the youngsters on screen tore through the tunnels of their hometown searching for treasure.

He remembered looking up at her face once to see her resting peacefully, her own eyes closed and the slow stretch of her legs in front of him as she continued to sleep. She had sighed once, lightly, though her face gave nothing away as his head stayed in place. Letting the movement of her legs downward slowly move his own palm across them, with only the thin chenille of the blanket between the two. It made sense, he told himself, so flush with the lower half of her body, to move the pillow to make room. He found her side to be comfortable, giving as he rested his head against her. And while he wanted to wake her, to move, to sit up and leave, he also felt a pull in her direction that he couldn't describe. He smelled that clean laundry of her clothing, that peppermint he associated with her now. He felt the warmth of the back of her legs against his chest under the blanket and for only the second time since he had been home, felt comfortable completely enough to rest his own mind long enough to sleep.

It felt normal sleeping next to her, like he had always been doing it. Like he couldn't imagine what it would be to sleep without her now with only a night and nap under his belt, but still, the thought was overwhelming. He didn't even know her. He didn't know anything about her except the warmth of her side and the slow way she sighed when sleeping. She didn't snore. She wore ponytails. She hid her smiles often with a blush. He wanted to knock on the bathroom door and try to explain that he was sorry but he couldn't figure out what he was sorry for exactly, only that he hated that she was upset. He hated upsetting this stranger, all of the sudden, whom he detested days before.

He hated that she made him feel bad, too, he realized, contemplating on the couch. He hadn't done anything wrong. She had invited him to stay. She had told him to watch the movie, he hadn't forced himself on her or kissed her or anything ludicrous like that. He had just laid down. That's all he meant to do.

He stood quickly, regretting the entire interaction, the night before, every smile he had thrown her way, everything. He regretted it all.

He made his way to the door, looking behind him for only a second at the still closed bathroom, the light faint behind it. He didn't have to know her or understand her. From this point on, he simply had to exist near her. That was plenty enough for him.


	10. The Hold

_**Sorry for the delay, got a little tied up with real life. Hopefully it's still enjoyable to read and that everyone is having as much fun as I am. Thank you for your kind words!**_

When Betty left for work that night, completing the usual ritual of her scrubs and her bike at their normal time, she did everything she could to avert her eyes away from the house. It still called to her, of course, its dark windows and its cryptic stranger within.

Betty had tried to erase the nap from her memory. As she showered and hurriedly changed for work, she tried to brush off the relaxed warmth against the back of her legs, of the arm draped across her knees, the head resting lightly on her hip. It felt normal, so relaxed. She tried to shake it off with the blow dryer against her head, the light lip gloss she placed against her lower lip. It wasn't leaving her mind, no matter how hard she pushed.

The house seemed dead, if nothing else, no matter how she tried to look away which was a relief. The last thing she wanted was to see him, to apologize yet again for her erratic behavior or whatever mistake she had made next. She had known it was a mistake, that she didn't make friends or get close to anyone for a reason. She wasn't looking for any of that, that closeness, that future. She wasn't looking for anything. She was looking to escape, and they were making it increasingly impossible to do so.

Jughead wasn't the only one. She had received three texts from Ronnie in the time she had been asleep. "Skip work, come play" she had sent at first and then two photos of nightclub dresses with the caption "these would look amazing on you." She couldn't bring herself to reply. She wasn't the clubbing type anyway. She would be no fun at a place like that. She told herself over and over that wouldn't be fun. It wasn't her scene. And honestly, she couldn't believe it was Jughead's scene either.

So when she pulled her bike into the driveway twelve hours later, just as the morning sun was coming up to see five dark cars parked in the driveway, she was more than surprised. Work had not been the easiest shift – two people had called in and there was an outbreak of MRSA at a senior home which caused a large influx of patients around eleven pm. She was exhausted, sore from the neck down, and she wasn't ready to see party people – not after a full night of drinking.

To her surprise, as she began walking her bike down the gravel driveway with the sound of the heavy gates closing behind her, there were no wild bunch inside the kitchen windows. Instead, a lone kitchen light was on, shining behind Jughead who was sitting on the back porch. He had a white mug of coffee in his hands, the same cap covering his dark hair. He wore a white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and he took a slow sip as he watched Betty tip toe past.

"Good morning," he called. She looked to him and nodded.

"How was work?" he tried again. She stopped mid stride giving him a full polite look of her eye. "It was fine thank you. Tiring," she sighed and he stood up slowly, walking toward her. Betty tensed, her fingers gripping the handlebars.

"You're up early," she said, motioning to the sky climbing slowly behind him, painting the sky pink and blue and gold. It was probably 6:30 now after her ride home. Certainly no time for a guy who had been out drinking all night to be up enjoying the sunrise.

"I never went to bed," he answered, "Figured I'd give it a try. It's not as easy as it looks."

"I make it look easy?" she mused.

"Enough to make me curious. It's not for me, I guess." He shrugged and took another step toward her. Betty ducked her head, looking to the ground.

"You should get some sleep," she said, beginning her walk. He was close behind her, following.

"I wanted to talk to you," he finally said.

"I'm sure whatever it is can wait until you've had some rest."

"No, I'm pretty sure it can't."

"I guess what I meant to say is, it'll have to wait until I've had some rest. I'm pretty tired too."

"It won't take long," he answered just as quickly and he was right behind her, she could almost feel him he was so close. She pushed her bike up against the cottage and dug into her scrub top, feeling the tension rising in her throat. If she could only get the key out quickly and push it behind her, she began to panic.

"You know, I think that maybe it's just not a great idea."

"…Betty."

He said her name quietly, almost so quiet she couldn't hear it if he weren't right behind her. It stilled her movements for an instant. She had her key stuck in the doorknob, ready to turn the handle. She could almost hear him breathing behind her she was so still. The morning was so quiet.

"Elizabeth…" he tried again, even quieter this time. She turned her chin slowly, slightly over her shoulder in his direction.

He looked tired, true, but more than that he looked concerned. His eyes were drawn down, and he reached up with one hand to pull the cap off his head, freeing his hair as it fell against his forehead. His collared shirt was untucked and his lips were slightly parted with a word he hadn't yet said but seemed like he wanted to say. He was a foot, maybe, from her, breathing in the same cool morning air. Betty tucked her chin once more and nodded. She opened the door all the way, letting him in.

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It was not his intention to wait out the morning for her, he had realized, as the big gates opened while he sat on the porch. Well, maybe it was. It wasn't what he had set out that night to do though, really. It had just happened.

They always went out late, late enough where he truly wanted to just be in bed rather than greasing up his hair and piling into the cars to take them from one night club to the next. That was how Veronica liked it. It wasn't clutch to stay in any club more than an hour, she had told them all, and the girl's whole heartedly agreed. Jughead didn't want to ask what clutch was. The reasoning was stupid. Even if he finally got comfortable enough in a place to scope out a corner and hide with a friend in some semblance of conversation, it was always short lived. They were being dragged off in the next direction, the girls screaming as usual, their heels always a little more unsteady as the night progressed.

His house was the only one without parents, they had all deduced around three am after a stop at In-And-Out and they had their driver bring them all back to their awaiting cars in his driveway. Jughead never drank on these nights out, couldn't even fathom why he really went. He felt bad for Archie, definitely, and recognized that friendship meant having to do stupid shit you just didn't want to do sometimes for the sake of your best friend and his girlfriend.

It was why he always took the car keys from the girls as they stood around his kitchen island, eating fries and leaving ketchup on the counter tops. It was why he always directed them up the stairs and down the halls to the various spare rooms, making sure to note that his own and his sisters were off limits.

He couldn't sleep, though, once the noise had quieted down. Once the food had been cleaned up and the counters cleaned off and the noise of the night, the constant giggling and terrible Katy Perry music had turned off. It was only then that his mind could catch up to him, from before, when he remembered that in the last twenty four hours he had maybe met who was really beneath that blonde head of hair.

He couldn't stop thinking about the way she slept. He had admired her book collection from afar, unsure who she really even was, just that her mind was far more complex than he had originally given her credit for. He wondered if she chose the new Klimt on the walls. He wondered if the smell of peppermint would go away now that so many other things existed within that space. He didn't want that. He didn't want her to start disappearing. He had just gotten her.

She wasn't his to "get". He had to shake that thought away, as he made a pot of coffee around 4:30 and looked at the clock on the oven. She would be home in a couple of hours. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or maybe it was the anticipation of her coming back that kept him up. Either way, he found himself sipping coffee in the dark on the porch, looking out at the cottage that he never paid any attention to before this week. He saw the little light on next to the couch, even from so far away, where she sat and read her books and sipped her tea. He thought of her legs pressed against his chest again. He took another deep sip of coffee, determined. He had to know how what line he had crossed. What had he done so wrong.

Here, now, standing behind her, he couldn't seem to form the words. He didn't know why he was so determined or why he had dared to utter her full name. It worked, though, whatever it was that he had done and as he closed the cottage door behind them, enclosing them in the darkness, he tried to keep that confidence strong.

He watched her pull the items from her scrub pockets and set them on the counter in the kitchenette. She was avoiding him at all costs and he couldn't let that happen anymore. She was so gentle, so warm if she would only…

"I wanted to make sure…you were alright, after this afternoon."

"I told you, everything is fine. You don't have to check on me."

"You didn't seem fine."

"I was tired. And running late, that's all."

"It didn't seem like that was all."

"Yeah, well, you don't know me. If I say I'm fine, I'm fine."

"I think that's what I'm trying to do," he sighed, and watched as she ran the water in the kitchen sink, rinsing off the last of the dishes and placing them in the cupboard. Anything to keep her hands busy.

"Well, I wish you would stop."

"Why?"

"Because I'm just…I'm too busy for friends right now."

"You don't seem busy. You seem lonely," he countered and she turned to him, the familiar look of indignation he had seen so often only days before on her face.

"I'm not. Maybe you're projecting your own lonely life on me. I'm fine, I'm-"

"Yeah I heard you, fine," he cut in and shook his head. "Except you're not. You live alone-"

"You live alone," she interjected.

"You don't have friends."

"You don't know that," she said, placing the last dish on the shelf and shutting the cupboard. The kitchenette was narrow and she hesitated before walking towards him, turning her body to get around him without touching him.

"You said you were too busy for friends," he reminded her. She scoffed, growing agitated as she slid off her shoes at the front door.

"Jughead, did you need something today? Because I've been up all night, working and I could use some sleep and if you don't have something you're trying to say – if you're just here to insult me or tell me I need friends, then I can call my mom for that," she finally sighed. He stood, staring at her for several seconds before jamming his hands in his pockets and shrugging his shoulders.

"I guess not."

"Then…I'm going to go to bed."

She turned on one socked foot then to walk away from him and head towards her bedroom. He didn't have time to think. He knew he didn't have anything else to say but…he had something-

He strode towards her in two large steps and hooking her by the elbow, spun her where she stood. Her face as she came around to meet him was shocked and tired, her mouth open and he wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her straight towards the center of his chest. His hand came up to the back of her neck so that he held her face to his own neck, lightly, pressing his jaw to her ear.

She stood, embraced, for many moments in silence until finally…finally…she pulled her own arms up and around his back. She let her fingers spread wide, taking in the expanse of his shoulder blades beneath her palms and he pulled her even tighter with the reciprocation so that their torsos were flush entirely, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, hip to hip. He could feel her breath, heavy into his collar bone and he pressed his cheek against the side of her head, holding her tightly. He didn't want to let go. He didn't know how long she needed to be held, only that he felt it, that she needed it, that she craved it.

She melted into him. She rested her weight against him completely, felt the firm hold of his hand against her neck – supportive but not forceful and she could swear she felt his lips graze her forehead as he had pulled her in tight, but she couldn't be sure. She only knew she could smell his skin, feel the warmth of it against her face through his unbuttoned collar. She could feel his heat radiating into her own hands. She fit there, so completely, so wrapped. She couldn't believe it was possible to belong in a space so much.

Her hair was soft and fine, extremely fine, beneath his fingertips. There was that smell again, maybe chocolate? Only when he could feel her relax and pull back even the slightest bit did he loosen his hold enough to look down into her face. She pulled it away from him, bringing her eyes up to meet his and cleared her throat lightly.

"You ok?" he finally asked, his voice a low whisper, breaking the quiet stillness of the room. She nodded once, unsure of how to answer. He was torn between embarrassed and relaxed and didn't know how to let go of her tiny frame still wrapped in his lanky arms.

"I can go so you can get some sleep…" he asked, just as low. She shook her head, only once again.

"I could stay….we could read or something…?" he tried and to that she let a small smile come to her lips, nodding in agreement. Finally, he took a small step back, releasing her from his grip, pulling his hands down her back as he let her go all the way. She put a palm to her forehead, smoothing back the hair as it started to fall from her own ponytail, trying to compose herself from whatever it was that just happened. She seemed flush to him, but calmer. Certainly quieter.

She went to her room and closed the door partly behind her, emerging a few minutes later in a loose long sleeve cotton shirt and the gray shorts that had plagued his mind more than he realized before seeing them again in person. She had pulled her hair down from the ponytail and let it hang loose on her shoulders while he went around the room and pulled each shutter closed around them, blocking out the ever emerging sun. Like a ritual he didn't realize was creating itself.

She shuffled the pillows around and pulled out two much larger, newer blankets that had arrived with Veronica's deliveries, as well as her comfortable old one to make the couch as nestlike as possible. He sat first, unsure of where she wanted to be – how much space she wanted to have – but she sat directly next to him and pulled her feet up underneath her so that they were shoulder to shoulder. She leaned over the coffee table and grabbed The Hobbit, handing it over to him as she rested her head back against the couch.

He picked up where he left off before, leaning into her slightly so that their arms captured the warmth between them. And when she yawned only a few minutes in he closed the book quietly, laying it on the floor. He hesitated for a moment and then pulled himself back to the corner of the couch so that his head was resting on a pillow there, the length of his body on the couch entirely. He left a large space between his body and the back of the couch so that he was close to the edge and put one arm out in her direction.

She stared and slowly eased herself to lay down in that space so that her head rested against his chest, his arm wrapped tightly around her back. He could feel her stomach against his, each breath she took in her chest that matched his own, the light feather of her hand as it came up to rest on his breast bone just below her chin.

Her legs slowly slid between his so that they were intertwined like vines climbing to the roof of a house, her socked feet pressed against his. She dragged a blanket with her as she slid into place so that it covered them both and with one large, heavy sigh, he looked down to see her eyes shut, her lips parted.

Jughead couldn't bring his own eyes to close. He had no idea how he ended up here, how they ended up here, only that it was comfortable and strange and exhausting. He didn't know her middle name or how she took her coffee or what city she had lived in before this. He only knew that she fit against him like a key into a lock.

He looked toward the window at the climbing sun blinking through the shutters and prayed she didn't disappear before he could find out.


	11. Fishing

Ronnie crossed one long leg over the other, a light caramel color that Betty could not understand as she looked down at her own legs, whiter than snow. In the glaring sunlight she became even more aware of their differences. Veronica, colorful and angular with a black swim suit that covered her already perfect skin in black mesh blocks leaving what lay beneath a suggestion rather than obvious. Betty looked down at her own suit, a baby blue bikini she had settled on at the store with Veronica earlier in the week. It was modest, as bikinis went, though she still felt exposed looking down at her own small belly button, her torso just as white as her legs, the brightest of flesh. She gripped the towel she was sitting on tighter, unable to relax completely in the lounge chair by the pool.

In front of her Archie and Reggie were pushing each other into the pool from the edge, falling sideways into the awaiting water with large splashes. Ronnie grimaced as the water dared to trace the edges of her baking sun.

"Enjoy it now, boys, this looks like the last good day we'll have for a while," she called and turned to Betty through shaded eyes.

"Didn't we get you a cover up?" she asked and Betty looked down at her own skin, even more flush now with embarrassment.

"I think we might have in one of the bags…" she trailed but Ronnie shook her head.

"No, silly, you look great but you're going to burn. You're made of paper. Here," she said and handed Betty the bottle of sunblock. "Jughead, come do Betty's back!" Ronnie called and she eyed Betty quickly with a devilish raise of her eyebrows. Betty rolled her own eyes.

Jughead was in the seats adjacent to them, his eyes covered with his own sunglasses, black t-shirt and shorts in place. Betty could only surmise he was melting beneath them as the sun was fantastically warm today, even she could not resist the invitation to join them. He did not raise his head, only turned it to her slightly before sighing.

"You're usually much more subtle at your plotting, Veronica," he answered. She shrugged.

"No plotting. I just did my nails, they're still wet," she waved to him, her fingertips shining a red lacquer in the sunlight. Betty sat forward and emptied some of the block into her awaiting palm, rubbing it into the length of her arms again, though she could see it would do little to help now. Her shoulders were already a light pink.

"I'll get her!" Reggie called and pulled himself out of the pool by the ladder in two strides. Betty stopped, struck at the thought.

"Oh no, I'm fine. See I can reach everything anyway," she stated but he was already sauntering towards her, his tall frame and handsome smile blinding as the water flecked off of his stomach and arms. Betty had never given Reggie much thought in the two or three encounters she had with him. Not that there wasn't much to consider – he had the body of a surfer and the smile of a Manhattan billboard model – but she had always assumed that was all he was.

"Nonsense, I'll get your back."

Jughead sighed heavily and moved to sit up. "Don't accost the girl, Reggie, can't you see she's afraid of Neanderthals?" Jughead called, motioning to stand.

"Don't trouble yourself, Juggie dear. She's in good hands. Reggie's hands," Ronnie quipped and with that she swiped the bottle from Betty and tossed it up into the air, landing in Reggie's awaiting palms. He flashed Betty one more smile before motioning for her to turn in her chair. She caught Jughead's eye for just a split second before turning hesitantly where she sat.

"Just my shoulders," she mumbled, "I think they're getting pretty burnt."

"You are made of paper, Casper," Reggie answered, his voice lower now with a laugh. She felt the chair give as he sat up close behind her and then the coolness of the liquid against her shoulders, across her shoulder blades. He was firm but kind as he swept across her skin, covering the expanse with his large hands.

"See now that," Ronnie mused loud enough for only Betty to hear, "Is plotting."

"Veronica…." Betty began under her breath.

"Shush, shush, I'm a genius," she whispered in response. "You can't see what I see."

"And what's that?"

"Potential." Betty turned her head enough to see Ronnie's eyes were trained across the pool at something out of Betty's eyesight. Whatever it was, she didn't like being a part of it. She could feel Reggie's hands move below the strap of her bikini with more cool liquid and she instinctually pulled forward.

"Ticklish, Snow White?" he asked.

"No just….I think that's good. Thank you so much." She turned her body away from him and saw he was smiling. He really was innocent, if nothing else, and he didn't move from his spot. She could see he was soaking her towel beneath him but he was oblivious.

"Betty, did you know Reggie dabbles in the guitar?" Ronnie asked and Betty smiled, feigning interest.

"I did not."

"Just a little. My uncle shows me some stuff when he has spare time."

"That's….really nice of him," Betty answered lamely.

"I could show you some stuff sometime," he offered. Betty's face froze in what she assumed was a grimace.

"On the guitar?"

"Yeah, you have nice hands," he said and he reached forward, not asking permission, pulling her own small hand in the mass of his own. He turned it over to look at her fingertips, "You could probably be great at guitar."

"Jesus Christ, Reg, does that line actually work at the bars?" Jughead called out from his chair. Betty looked over to see he was still laying back, sunglasses on, but that his head was turned in their direction. Reggie laughed.

"Every time brother," he called. Betty pulled her own hand away again, clearly uncomfortable.

"He shoots he scores," Archie said, as he approached also sopping wet from head to toe. He leaned over Veronica to plant a kiss on her lips, dripping water on her as she sat.

"Archiekins, darling, this is Bebe," she said with a kind push away.

"It's a bathing suit. It's supposed to get wet."

"You are precious, but no, it's not. And also, that's a great idea," she said, turning towards Betty and Reggie in their shared seat.  
"What's a great idea?" Betty asked, afraid to even inquire.

"The bar. Tonight. We're going out. We've got plenty of time to get ready and I have this amazing new Michael Kohrs you're going to love. And if you hate it, I don't care because my closet is full of one billion other things. It'll be fabulous."

"But I have"-

"No work tonight. We've already talked about this. Plus you had one hell of a nap into this afternoon if I'm not mistaken," Ronnie teased lightly. Betty could feel the blush in her face as it reached the tips of her ears.

Yes, maybe they had taken one or more naps together since that first time. Betty could not explain it, could not even begin to understand why it was comfortable to sleep pressed up against the boy who seemed to want nothing more from her since that very first night. He was comfortable to read with her, to talk about terrible television with her, to wait up for her now on more than one occasion and to adapt to her schedule simply for the sake of sleeping on her impossible small couch for hours on end with no other motive. Every morning he left after a cup of coffee and a wave. That was it. That was all it was.

Until Veronica had caught them two days ago, surprising Betty for another impromptu shopping trip. And while she didn't push, since Betty was so clearly not giving up any answers, she had developed a motive all of her own Betty was only becoming very aware of these past few days. Plotting, Jughead had called it. Yes, Betty mused, that did seem to fit the bill.

Jughead shook his head in the distance, turning back to the afternoon sun.

"Bar hopping three nights a week is my limit, Ronnie, no thanks, "he called. Ronnie waved him off.

"Please, like we need you to have a good time. You'd ruin it anyway with your lengthy diatribes on how Calvin Harris cannot begin to comprehend real music"-

"IT'S NOT MUSIC. IT'S SOUNDS," Jughead argued and Betty felt a laugh come to her mouth, which she covered with her fingertips.

"You're sounds. We're going without you, you boob," Ronnie snapped back. She turned to Betty.

"We need to shower. And get ready. At my house." Ronnie instructed and she pointed to her handbag turning to Archie.

"Love?" she asked. He sighed and picked it up, throwing it over his shoulder.

"Well, we know I'm in," Reggie clapped his hands together.

"I'm counting on it," Veronica smiled at him. Betty eyed her suspiciously.

"I should go change…" she began, heading back to the cottage.

"Underwear, if you must," Ronnie called with a laugh and Betty shook her head, collecting her now wet towel behind her as she went so as to cover herself. She disappeared into the small cottage and emerged with a small bag with essentials inside she thought she'd need.

"Excited?" Ronnie asked with a wide smile, her cover up in place as they walked towards her awaiting car. Betty watched as Jughead ambled back to the main house without so much as a glance in her direction.

"Sure," she finally answered, getting into the back seat behind her. "Why not."

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"To say you're a spring would be an understatement," Veronica mused to herself as she applied a light sheen of blush to Betty's cheeks. The touch was incredibly soft, almost as if she couldn't feel it. Betty closed her eyes and tried to relax at whatever creation Ronnie was envisioning for her tonight.

"I don't usually wear make up," Betty answered.

"Girl, you don't have to tell me. This skin is untouched. It's perfection. You don't have a pimple in sight, I would kill for this skin," she said and she used one fingertip to turn Betty's chin in one direction, then the other lightly.

"It's just skin," she said with a small smile. She didn't know how to respond to a compliment for an attribute she could not control. Being smart, sure, thank you. Being quick witted or light on her feet – maybe. Being pretty? Betty didn't even know if that constituted a thank you.

"Close," Ronnie instructed and Betty fluttered her eyelashes shut. She felt the tip of a brush in the outer corners and when instructed, opened them again to look directly into Ronnie's eyes who appeared to be staring through her, inspecting her own work. She motioned for her to close again, dipping her brush back into a palette of colors Betty didn't even know existed in ROYGBIV and continued her work.

"Can I ask a question?" Ronnie asked as she worked.

"I'm afraid if I say no, you'll ask anyway."

"We are getting to know each other so well already, doll," Ronnie laughed. Betty felt the light press of a lip pencil against her upper lip and tightened slightly.

"So this thing with Jughead is like…what exactly," she began and Betty sighed through her nose.

"There's no thing with Jughead."

"Betty, if we're going to be friends you don't have to tell me everything. Everyone's entitled to their secrets. But, you do have to tell me some stuff," she continued. The light press against her lower lip of a lip wand and a smooth gloss continued. Betty parted her mouth slightly, talking through Ronnie's hard work.

"We just sleep together. Not like, sleep together but sleep. I don't know. It just happened on accident and I can't—it doesn't bother….I mean, he seems"—

"Betty, Betty. You're acting like you're doing something wrong. Taking a nap with a boy is not bad. Why are you stressing?" she asked, pulling back. Betty looked up at her for a second, into her honest eyes awaiting her answer.

"I'm not. I'm not stressing," she finally answered, shaking her head. "I'm just saying. I thought he hated me. He wanted me gone and now…"

"No he so does not want you gone," Ronnie answered with a laugh.

"He just sits up and waits for me to get home. And he's different when it's just us. I mean, I don't know what it's like when I'm not around but when it's him and I, it's…easy or something…"

"When you're not around it's like someone stuck a fork in his eye and they expect him to still have fun. But then again, Jughead has always been a little too unbearable for my taste. We're just different."

"It's friendship. We're both just lonely people living by ourselves and in a few weeks he's going to find a girl or a friend. It'll end. It's just for now."

"Oh, you don't know anything about Jughead at all, do you?" Ronnie asked and she touched the ends of Betty's lashes with a mascara wand.

"What do you mean?"

"Jughead and girls. I mean, he's a man I think? But I've never seen Jughead with a girlfriend since Cheryl and let's be honest, that did not end well. I honestly thought these past few years that Jughead would be better off alone."

"I think that kind of plays into exactly what I'm saying," Betty answered slowly. She wanted to ask who Cheryl was, when Cheryl was, but stopped herself short.

"No, uh uh. This is different. Jughead doesn't talk to girls at bars. He doesn't flirt with girls at restaurants or when he's out with his friends. He was in Europe for the better part of the year and did he take advantage of the swarming throngs of groupies awaiting for his daddy? Don't you think the Son is the next best thing to Daddy? Like he couldn't have his pick?" she asked. Betty shrugged, unsure of what she was getting at.

"I'm saying, Betty that Jughead doesn't take naps with random girls. He doesn't want a girl to see his bedroom or touch his ugly, dirty beanie cap. And yet, you get here and less than a week later he's like…sharing his innermost space?"

"I think you're reading a lot into this," Betty answered.

"I think you're in denial. Here," Ronnie answered, holding up a hand mirror. Betty flashed it in front of her face, taking in the black lightly lined eyes and the thick lashes, the sweeping silver that covered her eyelids. Her lips, a juicy pink against her fair skin. She felt unrecognizable. It was almost thrilling. Betty smiled in appreciation.

"I don't recognize myself," she said and Ronnie clasped her hands together in excitement.

"We're not done yet. This," she proceeded to grab a hanger from her king sized bed, pulling it in Betty's eye line, "is the piece de resistance."

"Where's the rest of it?" Betty asked. Ronnie's tinkled laughter filled the room.

"It's understated," she answered. Betty shook her head.

"Are there pants?"

"Pants? It's a dress!"

"It's a handkerchief."

"It's designer."

"Designed by a blind man. Veronica, what covers my….."

"You can say vagina. I won't tell, Elizabeth Cooper." Betty blushed and shook her head adamantly.

"I wasn't going to say that."

"Say it" Ronnie prodded with excitement. "Just say it."

"Ronnie. Find the other half of that dress."

"You haven't even tried it on yet!"

"There's nothing to try on."

"Betty. Go," Ronnie said and pointed to the bathroom. Betty slowly took the hanger with the white sheath hanging from it in her fingertips to the bathroom locking herself within.

It was tight. She didn't know how else to describe it. It came off her shoulders revealing her collarbone, hugging down her torso in a cross pattern of pure white fabric so silky and soft she couldn't help but run her fingers across her abdomen. It came to her mid-thigh and she had to force herself to turn slowly, assessing her own derriere in the bathroom mirror. Yes, there it was, on full display, encased in skin tight white material.

"Come out."

"No. I look a nurse from a porn film."

"We'll talk about your porn habit later, I'm dying to see it."

Betty unlocked the door and stepped out, pulling her faintly curled blonde locks to one side over her shoulder. Veronica's face lit up slowly, the way an old fashioned lightbulb comes to life, it's golden stem radiating within. She was changed into her a gold number that hung from spaghetti straps at her shoulders, hugging her frame but not quite so obviously.

"How come you get to wear that?" Betty asked, pointedly as the bottom of Ronnie's dress swayed with her steps forward, pulling the material around Betty's body to fit perfectly.

"I'm not trying to catch anyone tonight," Ronnie answered. "I'm caught."

"I'm not trying to catch anyone either," Betty countered to which Veronica raised one perfectly arched brow.

"All I'm saying is, let's go fishing. See what's in the water."

"I can't stand your metaphors."

"Darling, I'm the best thing to ever happen to you," she answered, placing one faint kiss with the side of her lips against Betty's cheek.

Betty reached out and grabbed the small clutch Ronnie had lent her that contained her key, her phone and a few cards and cash inside. She felt so naked, so without. She wished she was wearing nurse's scrubs or laying around her cottage in her pajamas.

"I don't know why you think it's worth all of this. You're convinced that this is a thing with Jughead, and yet Jughead is not even coming out tonight."

"Oh you know less about boys than Jughead does about girls. I'm just going to have to hand hold this entire thing, aren't I?" she asked, amused with herself, grabbing her own purse and holding her bedroom door open for Betty. "He'll be there."

"But he said"-

"Yeah, that doesn't mean anything. Reggie will be there. Trust me, Juggy will be there."

"What does Reggie have to do with anything?"

"Only everything, muffin. Just watch and learn." Ronnie said as she started down the grand stair case of her house, Betty close in tow. She could only imagine the shoes Ronnie was about to cram her feet into. She pulled at the hem of the dress with each stair, feeling it rise slightly the entire way down. It was going to be an incredibly long night, she could already tell. She never should have agreed to this. She never should have said yes to Ronnie, let herself be talked into a makeover of all the stupid and childish things.  
"Here," Ronnie said and she held out a pair of bright pink pumps, the heel inches taller than Betty could have ever dreaded in her nightmares.  
"Every fisherman needs his pole," she said, not waiting for Betty to answer, shoving them into her hand, her dazzling smile shining into the night as she opened the front door leading the way.


	12. I Wanted It Too

Betty could recall being in one night club from her hometown. It was located in the lobby of a Holiday Inn – they converted it every Saturday night only. It was crawling with girls wearing too short jean shorts and terrible music. While they weren't technically allowed to smoke in the hotel, it always reeked of it for some reason Betty couldn't quite pinpoint. It was the best her small town could muster for the local teenager scene. Betty had gone once with her best friend at the time and put her foot down after that.

The clubs Veronica was taking her to, she could tell, would be nothing of the sort. After picking up Archie, Reggie and Josie, whom Betty could recall meeting briefly at one point, the five had clamored into Veronica's family Denali with a driver and headed off into the night. She could barely hear the conversation in the backseat, the radio was so incredibly loud, but Ronnie's reassuring hand rested on her own in the car, her brilliant white smile flashing at her in the dark when she wasn't directing all of her attention on Archie.

Betty couldn't remember ever seeing the city up close at night and the lights were enthralling. She felt like a child with her nose pressed up against the window. Entering the city, they pulled up to a hotel and Betty had a sudden flash of horror. They couldn't possibly be going to a place reminiscent of her teenage history, could they?

Ronnie grabbed her hand firmly in her own and pulled her towards the entrance. Their doors were held open for them with warm greetings and Betty swore she saw Archie tip one of the gentlemen, but couldn't be sure. They entered the crisp lobby, cool air surrounding her already flushed skin and headed straight across the green marble floors, the bright pink asymmetrical geo-shaped couches towards the elevator. Ronnie pressed the buttons, giving Betty a reassuring squeeze.

If she thought she could see the city and its amazing wonder from the top of the hill in her neighborhood, Betty had no idea what she had been missing. The elevator doors opened to a rooftop bar where the city did not lay in gazing twinkles far below her, but directly in her face with buildings on all sides of her. They were glorious, towering, brightly lit from the inside and she stopped to stare and turn in all directions. They were rounded, square, long and wide and shorter and she felt like a giant among them. Ronnie pulled her forward, not allowing a lot of time for standing and gawking.

"This is The Standard. It's lovely, owned by the same guy who owns Chateau Marmont, which is whatever – fine, but old. A great place to start. Plus it's never too crowded which I love." Betty nodded, pretending to know what any of those words meant.

"Champs, my love," Ronnie instructed Archie, pressing a cool kiss to his lips and he smiled warmly, turning to Betty.

"Same?"

"I don't really drink"-

"She'd love one," Ronnie interjected and Archie nodded, heading off. Josie was staring down at her phone while Veronica assessed the space around them, finally spotting a bevy of seats unoccupied near the large rooftop pool Betty had not noticed until this moment. She sat, crossing one leg over another as Archie returned. Betty tried her best to sit comfortably, pulling the dress to her knees as best she could, aiming her legs in one direction and then the other while pressing them tightly together. She had never seen so much of her thighs in public. Reggie squeezed in next to her, pressing the length of his body against her own, his arm thrown around the back of the two seater. He smelled of cologne- too much cologne. Betty looked to him with a weak smile, uncomfortable.

"You looked cold," he said to her loudly over the music and chatter of their surroundings.

"Being naked will do that to you," she surmised.

"You want to get naked?" he asked, surprised and Betty shook her head adamantly.

"That's not exactly what I was saying."

"We could start with dancing," he smiled at her, "that could warm you up." He reminded her of Joey Tribbiani from a Friend's episode – she was having too hard of a time keeping a straight face.

"I'm ok for the moment, but thank you."

She took a long, small and slow sip from her bubbling glass of champagne. She had to admit, it was exquisite. She could feel the cool liquid spread across her tongue, lighting her mouth ablaze with delight as Veronica eyed her from across the table.

"So, what next?" Betty asked. Archie shrugged his shoulders.

"You mean, where to next? We just got here."

"No, I mean…what do you do here? Just sit and drink?"

"We're socializing Betty. You should try it. You might enjoy it," Ronnie cheered her glass in Betty's direction.

"We don't know any of these people," Betty answered, looking around.

"On the contrary my love, no one knows us. But if you look closely, we actually know everyone. Over there – that's Stanley Tucci eating salmon with his wife. And over there, Dave Franco is having a drink at the bar."

"At the risk of sounding completely naïve"-

"Do not say you don't know who Dave Franco is. Do not utter the words, Elizabeth Cooper," Veronica called out, completely abashed, closing her eyes.

"Speak for yourself, everyone knows who I am," Josie said with a daring grin, leaning back in her seat.

"So you just go where celebrities go?"

"It's not about seeing celebrities," Josie answered taking a drink from a peach colored cocktail that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. "It's just that celebrities only go to the best places. I'm not about to have a garbage drink in a garbage bar if I know somewhere out there Kim Kardashian is having a far better drink at a far better bar. Feel me?" she asked. Betty stared.

"Sure," she answered, not feeling her at all. What did it matter who drank where? Why couldn't they just have a drink at home – a place they already knew and loved?

Betty finished her glass of champagne and stared out into the night sky, the buildings feeling closer than ever before. She was sure if she just reached out one hand she could almost touch a blazing window in the distance, its inhabitants and people feel the brush of her fingertips on their necks as she reached further and further into their windows, their lives.

She felt in that instance another set of fingertips on her own neck and she turned, startled.

"Let's go have that dance," Reggie said, running his hand across her shoulders and down to her hand. Betty felt her body tense, unsure. Ronnie was not paying attention, looking down diligently to her phone, typing away.

"I'm not much of a dancer."

"That's fine, I'm amazing. I'll do all the work," he laughed and with one hard pull she was on her feet, his strong arms encasing her. He was smiling from ear to ear, clearly harmless, but Betty's arms felt stiff like rods against his muscular frame. She was having a hard time moving her body. He didn't allow much resistance, and her body was pulled involuntarily to a small mass that had formed near the pool, along the edge of the bar and railing overlooking the city. Reggie didn't loosen his grip at all as he pulled her to his chest, the song almost indiscernible amongst the noise. Betty couldn't concentrate – were they slow dancing? Fast dancing? There was too much hip gyration.

"See, you're a natural," Reggie hollered into her ear. Betty cringed.

"I look ridiculous."

"Nah, you look hot!"

Betty thought for a moment, deciding that perhaps Reggie wasn't much of a conversationalist. His hand was firm against her lower back, pulling her body close to his, her arms up and around his neck loosely. She tried to concentrate on anything else but the body against her, about the night that surrounded them, about the champagne that was slowly rising to her cheeks after only a few sips. She could feel the presence of people surrounding them, bodies moving closer like waves in the water and the heat in her neck and arms became apparently. She pulled back from Reggie.  
"I think maybe I'd like to sit down."

"Songs almost over!" he hollered back with a smile. Betty's arms tensed further and she began to push back against his shoulders.

"I don't think I can be out here."

"You have to relax, it's a great song!" As her body pushed for distance, his only reciprocated pulling her tighter to him. Betty could feel her chest tighten, her eyes begin to water as the racing of her mind quickened. It was hot, so incredibly hot out here in the open air, surrounded by so many people. Betty looked to her left where the building's edge loomed, behind her to the expansive swimming pool. As she turned to her right, she stopped short.

She could see him there, in the distance, his eyes on her. He was pulling at the sleeve of his black blazer, but his face matched her own. Eyes wide, tense. Dark hair falling across his forehead, a shadow amongst a sea of people in bright colors all wanting their share of the attention. Without speaking, without even calling out to him, he was making large strides in her direction across the dance floor, pushing past the people. With each step, Betty felt a lump in her throat rise and rise, the anticipation of him getting to her quickening. She could almost feel him, like a pulse reaching out to her. She pulled one arm away from Reggie's neck, his face searching hers in confusion. It didn't matter, she wasn't paying him any attention. He was almost there, almost.

Finally, finally, his hand was taking hers and with a strong pull, he was like gravity, taking her body into his arms and out of Reggie's. She went, willingly, melting against him.

"You mind, Reg?" Jughead asked, though he wasn't looking at Reggie at all. His eyes were locked on Betty's as he put both of his long, lean arms around her torso, her hands up near her own chin, resting on his chest. She let out a long slow breath.

"Thought you weren't coming out, Jug."

"I changed my mind," he answered still not looking up. He ran both of his hands up along Betty's bare arms, the warmth of his palms leaving a trail against her cool skin. His face was concerned, eyebrows drawn together as he looked at her, their faces only inches apart.

"You alright?" he asked as Reggie put up hands, stepping off of the dance floor.

"Yeah. Better, thank you."

"You didn't look like you were loving the dance."

"He's nice. He's harmless. It just got to be a lot, I don't know."

"Yeah these places aren't really your scene."

"They don't seem to be yours either," she responded. She was leaning into him more, his arms snugly around her. Suddenly, the people around her were not as apparent, as present. She felt she finally had room to breathe. She was trying to concentrate on anything but his deep stare, drawing her eyes down to his white shirt, his jacket, the place just below his jaw that her eyes were level with.

"They're not."

"Then why'd you come out?"

"Why did you?"

"Veronica's kind of a force to be reckoned with. I didn't know if I was really up to battle her."

"I guess I could say the same," he laughed.

"She put you in a party dress and lipstick?" Betty smiled. Jughead rolled his eyes.

"She's far more subtle with me than that."

"What'd she do to you?" she inquired earnestly. He stopped and looked to her for a moment before turning away, almost embarrassed.

"She put you in a party dress and lipstick."

Betty swallowed. She wanted to ask what that meant, what he was trying to say, why he said it, but the song ended and Jughead pulled back just enough to let the cool air of the night come between their chests. They were met by Veronica and Archie as they stepped back towards the seat, their items in hand.

"Come on, we're leaving. Josie's band is at Girl at the White Horse. They put us on the list," Ronnie winked at Betty, obviously, extending one hand. She took it, looking up to Jughead who seemed irritated with the decision but followed nonetheless. The group collected Josie and Reggie at the elevators and together climbed into the awaiting Denali at the front door.

Jughead kept his hand to Betty's back the entire time, guiding her into space near him at every turn, including sliding into the car where he placed himself firmly against her, his arm around the back of the seat she sat. She looked to him, always silently, waiting to see what he would say or do. His only concern seemed proximity, as he conversed with Archie easily on the road but kept his feel of Betty to his left firmly in place. Betty looked to Veronica only once, who was watching each interaction like a bird watches prey, before Betty had to look away. She was sure she would explode, combust, scream, say something if she looked at her a moment longer. Each brush of his skin against hers was like fire, like a trailing blaze left in its place, and it was all she could do to keep her face still and emotionless, seemingly as unaffected by the new level of comfort he had for her.

When they pulled up to the next place, the air outside had grown even more crisp and Betty felt more naked than ever, stepping out of the car onto the awaiting walk. A crowd of people had collected outside the building, with a large black awning over the lonely black door, emblazoned with the word "Cocktails" the only symbol that they had arrived.

They were ushered in quickly, surpassing the crowd amassed on the sidewalk and for a moment Betty felt bad that so many should wait while she, somebody who didn't even want to be here, was granted access so quickly. She forgot about those in an instant though, as they entered the bright pink room, swarming with throngs of people and sound and she felt a large hand encase her own. She looked to her right where Jughead was watching her, holding tightly to her.

"Don't want you to get lost in this place," he said lowly and she nodded once in complete agreement at his practicality. He pulled her with the group towards the bar where Jughead ordered, not asking her what she wanted, Veronica holding tightly to Archie in a similar fashion. Betty could see that Josie had made her way over to a group of girls lounging on a small couch in the distance. Jughead pressed a plastic cup into her hand and she peered her nose into it, taking a timid sip.

"Club soda. Lime," he answered. She gave him a small smile and mouthed a quiet thank you as he took a sip of his own identical drink. It was refreshing, light and exactly what Betty wanted.

She let her fingers loosen and she threaded them between his own so that he was no longer holding tightly to her like a child. She felt his grip relax, his fingers brushing against her own, warm and smooth. It was easy. She felt her mouth part into a smile as she took another sip. It was so easy with him. She didn't even know what to call it or how to explain it, only that it was easy. Touching, being with him near him. She could face these crowds of people, stand being in this awful dress, as long as he was standing next to her, holding her hand, ignoring the rest of it with her.

Ignoring was always hard to accomplish, Betty realized, as Veronica but in eventually to ask Betty to join her on the dance floor. While she hated to go, she felt obligated immediately as it was Ronnie's doing that got her out on the town for a night of fun in the first place. She felt bad for wasting the dress, the shoes, her hard work at making her face into something presentable that she gave Jughead a sheepish grin as she handed him her cup and let Veronica lead her away, the call of her excited scream parting the crowd as she laughed with Betty's hands firmly clasped in her own.

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Jughead had considered that he wouldn't be able to find them at the bar for the briefest of moments when he had first stepped off the elevator. He knew the later it got, scoping out of his friends before they ran off to the next destination was sometimes hit or miss. The Standard was a given, he knew, because Archie had mentioned it but also because he knew Veronica loved to start every night there. It gave her a thrill to begin any night out with friends with a celebrity sighting and lately, this bar had been the key to that. Still he wondered what he was even doing out as he pulled his jacket up and over his shoulders covering his white dress shirt, knowing the doorman would insist on the jacket once inside.

He shouldn't have worried, he realized, only seconds through the door. Veronica had dressed her, he was sure of it, and he had dressed her like a lighthouse off the coast of a dark sea. She was a beacon of light in a white sheath Jughead had never seen, never imagined she would be dressed in. Her hair, down, which was such a rarity to him, barely covering one of her exposed shoulders. She looked radiant, glowing amongst the people, despite the look on her face which screamed of terror and discomfort.

He couldn't get there fast enough, he realized in that moment. He wished in an instant he was standing next to her, holding her, the second he saw her face. He wanted to stop it, whatever it was that was causing her discomfort and obviously it would be Reggie. Reggie made everyone uncomfortable, he was a complete buffoon. He could see Betty's tense arms pushing against Reggie's shoulders as she finally caught his eye, beckoning him with no words, begging to be saved. He wished he could teleport. He wished he had been there before it even started, her anchor for the entire night. It was so stupid of him to not agree to come out in the first place.

It was just that he never thought she would agree to go either. He didn't think it was possible to convince her. He didn't see her as a night club girl, no matter how pushy Veronica got, and yet there she was in a dress that was so obviously not hers and lipstick that was so clearly never on her lips before tonight. He was ashamed to admit she was stunning. She was stunning without. She was beautiful in pajamas with no makeup and here, before him, he couldn't tear his eyes away.

He couldn't let go after that. He couldn't bring himself to tear away from her for a second. He had to be next to her, constantly, ensuring her comfort and her safety. Leave it to Veronica to throw her out to the sharks to see if she could swim. He couldn't let her drown like that. He had to hold her, touch her, guarantee that at every second she knew she wasn't alone with the likes of Reggie or any other bar hopping idiot that she caught the eye of.

That's exactly what he did, even when Veronica tore her away long enough to dance in the middle of the floor, Betty obviously awkward and uncomfortably, Veronica having enough fun for the both of them. He saw Betty laugh, genuinely, as Veronica dipped her backwards ballroom style and pull her back up, her arms around her neck in a genuine and strong hug. He could see Betty give in to it, close her eyes for a moment and appreciate the gesture of friendship. She must be lonely, he considered, and Ronnie must really adore her. Everyone adored her. His friends all liked her and they barely knew her. He barely knew her.

By the time Veronica allowed them all to be dragged back to the car, Betty's skin was warm to the touch and flush with laughter and sweat from the dancing. She squeezed into the car next to Jughead and he tucked her securely under his arm, pulling her close. She didn't pull away, leaning into him until her head rested against his shoulder and she sighed quietly into the car.

"Did you have fun?" he asked with a laugh, trying to stifle his disappointment. She could hear it anyway and smiled in response.

"Will you hate me terribly if I say yes, I did?" she asked quietly.

"Betty I don't think anyone could hate you." He looked down at her, her hair loose and bunched into strands from where sweat had begun to wick against it from her skin. She bit her lip, shaking her head.

"Sure they could. You'd be surprised."

"Well, you do surprise me," he murmured in response. He held her eyes for several seconds, unsure of how to move, feeling her breath against his chin they were so close.

"I'm STARVING!" Josie screamed from the backseat. Betty blinked, turning away from Jughead with the sound.

"Burgers!" Archie hollered in response and Ronnie squealed with excitement.

"Drive through, Jeeves!"

"His name isn't Jeeves, Ronnie," Archie laughed but the driver from the front smiled and saluted the command.

"He loves the name Jeeves," Ronnie argued, tiredly, pouting her lips against Archie's in a sloppy kiss. Betty laughed, shaking her head, turning away, still securely wrapped in Jughead's long arm. They hit the drive through, ordering far more food than Betty had ever seen in her life, digging into bags of steaming hot fries and burgers still in wrappers as the driver made his rounds into the night, one house after another.

Josie and Reggie were first, into the driveways of equally stunning mansions, hollering into the night sky their goodbyes with excitement. Even as the seats grew more spacious, creating holes where they once were, Veronica stayed cuddled up next to Archie in the very back, Betty equally snug against Jughead in the middle seat. He didn't move, expected her to pull away now that there was more space, secretly praying that she stayed right where she was against him. She reached into the bag occasionally for more fries and he leaned over twice, stealing them from her fingertips with a large bite, hearing her quiet laughter in the dark of the car.

"Last stop" the driver called and Betty finally pulled away, keeping a firm hold to the hem of her dress as she slid towards the door. He could feel the cool space she left behind her as she went.

"I'll call you tomorrow love. So much to discuss," Ronnie mumbled sleepily from the backseat, her body slumped adoringly in Archie's arms and he waved with a smile, pulling her close. Jughead said his goodbyes and could hear the firm click of the car door closing behind them, the engine as it began its decent down the driveway. He punched in the code for the large gate to close behind it as the red tail lights disappeared into the night.

Betty was standing in the driveway, a still white light like a star, but brighter, more brilliant. She looked a little tired, disheveled, but her eyes held a brightness he hadn't seen before. Maybe joy, excitement? He couldn't put his finger on it.  
"What time is it?" she asked and he pulled his phone out of his pocket, the first time all night he realized. Normally on nights like these, he lived on his phone like a savior.

"After three," he said. She nodded, scuffing her heel against the gravel.

"You have fun?" he asked. She nodded furiously, laughing.

"I know, you hate it. I hate it too. I didn't think I would like it but, God. Jughead, I had so much fun."

"I don't hate that," he answered, shaking his head. "You should. It's what Veronica wanted."

"I think we both know what Veronica wanted," Betty let slip and she stopped herself the second she said it, regretting that it left her lips. Jughead looked to her, both still in the driveway.

"What was that?" he asked.

"It's not important," she shook her head, trying to brush him off. She smiled falsely, pointing towards her dark cottage hiding in the dark in the distance. "We should get some sleep. I need to get out of this ridiculous dress."

"It's not ridiculous."

"You should try it on. You might like it," she dared and he shook his head.

"Yeah ok, maybe it's a little ridiculous. You don't look ridiculous in it, I guess is what I meant to say."

"Oh well, in that case, I guess I meant to say thank you," she retorted sarcastically.

They stood for another few moments, both unsure if they should be the first to leave when Betty pulled her hands up to her uncovered arms.

"I'm going to head in before I freeze to death."

"Yeah, same, I have this thing tomorrow. Probably should get some sleep," he answered, equally unconvincing. He swayed, hands in his pockets where he stood. She nodded once and began to turn.

"Have a goodnight, Jughead," she said and he could hear the slight crunch as she walked unsteadily along the gravel drive towards the little house. He looked to his own mansion, the brightly lit inside, the bed he knew was waiting for him, comfortable pajamas. No more blazer or pinched shoes. He watched her walking slowly, the sound of her disappearing into the night growing more and more faint. He shouldn't have let go. When they were in the car, he realized, he shouldn't have let her slide away. He should have held on still even then.

"Betty," he said, not loud enough as she didn't turn, still walking in her direction. He took after her at a clip, suddenly unsure of everything.

"Betty," he finally said again and this time she turned, her look surprised as she stopped just outside the door to the cottage as he approached. He walked towards her quickly, faster than she had realized it was so dark out and now that they were close to the light of her porch, his face was drawn, concerned, nervous. She drew her own eyebrows into a question.

"She wasn't wrong," Jughead said as he got closer. He pulled his palm up and cupped her cheek, drawing his face close to her own, staring into her eyes. She shook her head, unsure of what he was saying but he held firm, pressing himself closer to her with each second that passed.

"Veronica. She wasn't wrong. I wanted it too," he finally sighed.

He hesitated only a second longer, Betty's eyes and mouth posed in a question before he covered her lips with his own. Soft at first, placing them together and then stronger. He could hear the silence of her holding her breath, the quick breath she took in just before their lips met. He brought his other hand up to cup her face completely, holding her softly to him, pushing their bodies forward until he felt her back up against the wall of the porch.

He kissed her, sweeping his tongue along her bottom lip and he felt her relax slightly, reciprocating. It was that smell again, like chocolate or maybe vanilla, how could two things so different smell so equally sweet, how was it possible she tasted this sweet, how was this possible, how. Jughead felt his mind race, his heart race in his chest with each tender kiss that she reciprocated, her own tongue reaching out hesitantly to touch his. He brushed his hands up along her ear with one hand, grazing her hair, pulling it towards him with a soft handful, the feeling of it soft between his fingertips. His kisses quickened, taking her lips against his fully, more forcefully now, urgent. He could feel it growing, this need to be near her, touching her, kissing her stronger than ever.

"Tell me," he whispered into the dark between fervent kisses against her lips, speaking into her soft mouth. "Tell me," he almost begged and she nodded enthusiastically, a smile playing on her lips with each kiss that quickened.

"I wanted it too," she finally whispered, another kiss, another and he couldn't get close enough to her. He had her pressed so completely up against the cottage, their bodies as close as they were when they slept next to each other on the couch. She was soft, so soft, so perfect and soft beneath his hands he couldn't bring himself to stop, especially now, now that he knew that she wanted this in return all along, the way he did. All that time he had spent thinking about it and pushing it away, to the back of his mind, to anywhere that it didn't exist when all along all he had to do…all he should have done…

He felt her soft hands come up to graze his face as she kissed him slower now, bringing each kiss to a separate and slow final close. He didn't want to pull away but he could feel it coming to an end, each soft sweep of her top lip against his bottom lip until finally she sighed and pulled back.

"If one of us doesn't stop, we'll be out here all night," she whispered.

"That's not a terrible thing," he responded and she laughed lightly, quietly.

"Come in. Let's get some sleep," she beckoned and she dug the key out of her small purse, placing it quickly into the lock. The door swung open and he hesitated in the doorway as she began her walk in.

"You sure?"

"I told you, Jug," she answered with a soft smile, turning on a lamp next to her couch, setting the room aglow. She slid one heel off and then the other slowly, placing them on the floor neatly beside where she stood. He swallowed, hard, watching her deliberate movements, her creamy white legs slide against one another as she moved, frozen where he stood.

"I wanted it too," she finally shrugged, unashamed. He waited a beat, and, unable to hold back another second, stepped into the cottage, closing the door with a click behind him.


End file.
